


clementine

by shy_one



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dudley Dursley Redemption I guess?, Dudley's Kid Is A Witch, Family, Harry Finally Gets To Have A Go At The Dursleys For Being Abusive Pricks, Harry Potter & The Closure We Never Really Got In The Books, Harry Potter And The Emotional Carthasis We All Wanted For Him, Harry Was An Auror But He's Much Better As A Teacher, Kid Fic, Petunia Dursley is just The Worst, Post-Canon, Vernon Dursley Being an Asshole, You Can Pry Ron And Harry's Friendship From My Cold Dead Hands, family fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shy_one/pseuds/shy_one
Summary: “Dudley’s daughter is magic.” He said, astonished by the very words. “She’s a witch.”Petunia looked insulted. “She’s a Dursley!”
Relationships: Dudley Dursley & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & The Dursleys, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Petunia Evans Dursley & Harry Potter, Ron Weasley & Harry Potter, Vernon Dursley & Harry Potter
Comments: 341
Kudos: 756





	1. THE PHONEBOOK. OBVIOUSLY.

ONE.

THE PHONEBOOK. OBVIOUSLY.

Of the many and varied people Harry may have expected to show up on the door step of his quiet little apartment at a quarter past eight one cool March morning, Petunia Dursley was not high on the list. She wasn’t even in the top ten. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t on the list in the first place.

But there she was, all the same.

Harry blinked, readjusted his glasses and blinked again. “Er- hello?” he said, warily.

Harry found himself wondering a great many combination of possibilities, including whether he was still asleep, having some sort of mildly unpleasant dream or if perhaps someone was pulling a distasteful prank for some Merlin forsaken reason. He wondered if a Boggart had been let loose in the building, if maybe his greatest fear had transformed into his skinny, pinched mouthed Aunt without him knowing. He wondered, perhaps a little fantastically, if this was some kind of bizarre coincidence: if Aunt Petunia had knocked on his door expecting- oh, who knows- some old biddy member of her book club and was just as surprised to find her shaggy haired, disgraceful nephew standing in the doorway as he was to find her.

“Harry.” She greeted, simply and then scowled a fraction. “You need a haircut.”

Right, so not that last one then.

“Thanks.” Harry said, still bewildered. “Aunt Petunia, what are you doing here?”

The scowl tightened. “Waiting for you to invite me in, of course.”

“Right.” Harry said, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. “And why would I do that?”

“It’s past eight o’clock in the morning, Harry.” Aunt Petunia said, as though that explained everything. “Well within the bounds of acceptable visiting hours.”

“For a hospital, yes.” He frowned. “This is my flat.”

“Yes.”

“Where I live.”

“I imagined so.”

“What are you doing here at my flat where I live?”

The scowl emerged in its full force. “Waiting to be invited in of course!” she huffed. “Honestly is this how you greet all your visitors?”

“Only the ones who show up unannounced at eight o’clock in the morning.” Harry snapped back, irritably.

Aunt Petunia tilted her head sharply with intent. “Well?” she demanded. “Are we going to discuss personal business on the doorstep where anyone can snoop and pry?”

Harry really, deeply considered slamming the door in her face at that moment but couldn’t quite manage it. Call it a leftover shred of fear remaining from his childhood or his own finely honed instincts for self preservation but something told him the action would not be worth the consequences. So, reluctantly, he held the door open and watched Aunt Petunia tentatively step inside his flat, her pale blue eyes flitting from surface to surface as though she couldn’t decide what to comment on first.

The sight of her was jarring. He hadn’t spoken to his Aunt, Uncle or cousin in years. The last time he’d had any contact was a small note announcing the marriage of Dudley Andrew Dursley to some woman named Karen which had been accompanied with an even smaller note in Petunia’s neat scrawl that he was not welcome to the wedding. He’d sent a box of Chocolate Frogs as a gift, only partly in spite. Seeing his aunt again dredged up their last meeting, in the house at Privet Drive, in that nameless look they’d exchanged before she had left with Vernon and Dudley to go into hiding and he had begun what had seemed to be a doomed search for Horcruxes. The feeling was oddly itchy, like a too tight woolly jumper.

At present, the two of them stared at each other with apprehension.

Harry ran a hand through his hair anxiously. “Can I get you a glass of water?” he asked, uncertainly.

Aunt Petunia scoffed. “Certainly not.”

“How about some frogspawn then? A nice cauldron of phlegm?” Harry asked, sarcastically.

Petunia’s glare was icy. “On second thought, perhaps just a glass.”

Thankful for something to do, Harry moved about the little galley kitchen, taking his sweet time. “So…how’s Uncle Vernon?” he called out, wondering if she was here to report a death in the family.

“Quite fine.”

_Drat. Not Vernon then._

“Still working?”

“Hard as ever.”

“And Dudley?”

“Harry, I will not have a conversation screaming from the other room.” Aunt Petunia huffed, impatiently.

Harry peered at the window over his sink and wondered what it would be like to plunge headfirst through it. _Maybe later,_ he told himself as he re-emerged from the kitchen with a glass of tap water. She took it gingerly but didn’t condescend to drink it.

Another long pause and Harry threw a hand out haphazardly towards his couch. “Do you want a seat?”

Aunt Petunia took a long look at the furniture in question before she decided it was worth the risk and took a seat at the furthest edge. “Thank you.” The words looked like they physically hurt to say.

“Actually, Aunt Petunia, how did you find me?” he asked, the last dregs of sleep fading from his head. Despite his rather short career, his time as an Auror was marked with the arrest of several high profile criminals, many of whom would have delighted in having his home address. That wasn’t even mentioning the countless ex-Death Eaters and their families who may have thought to seek revenge so many years after the end of the War or, Harry’s personal favourite, the endless list of journalists and tabloid reporters who clamoured after him at all hours of the day and night, desperate for a scoop or an angle or a quote or a story. Assassins, all manner of Dark wizards, paparazzi – his address was meant to be privy information. He wondered how Aunt Petunia had discovered it.

“The phonebook, obviously.” Aunt Petunia replied with a careless wave of her hand.

Harry let his eyes close. “Obviously.” He repeated. He rubbed his forehead, feeling nowhere near refreshed enough to ask but with no other method of recourse. “Aunt Petunia, why are you here?”

“I just said, I looked up your name in the phonebook.”

“I’m not in the phonebook, Aunt Petunia.” Harry said patiently.

“Nonsense. How else did I find you?”

“That’s not- look, what’s going on?” he asked, frustrated. “Why did you look me up?”

Aunt Petunia didn’t reply but Harry took the opportunity to look her over for the first time, somewhat surprised at what he saw. His memory had filled in some gaps that were visible now that the shock had faded: her hair was greyer than it had been, the wrinkles more pronounced around her pinched features. But more importantly, she looked pale and tired. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled; there was a scuff mark on her shoes. Her hands shook a little, holding the water.

“Aunt Petunia, what’s going on?” Harry repeated, this time a little concerned. “Did something happen?”

Petunia set the glass down on the smudgy coffee table and straightened like a bow string tensed for action. “As I’m sure you know, your cousin has been married for several years.”

“Yeah, he mentions it every time we catch up for bingo.” Harry said, impassively.

Aunt Petunia’s nostrils flared with disapproval. “Well he has a child. A girl.”

Harry felt his mouth quirk a little at that. “Duddikins’ a dad, huh?” he said, throwing up a silent prayer for the poor kid. “That’s- that’s really something.”

The older woman looked a little soft as well. “Yes, well. We’re all very proud, obviously Dudley is a wonderful father.” She boasted.

“Obviously.” Harry repeated, thinking about the boy who used to dunk his head in the toilet and beat up kids on the playground for fun.

“He’s so devoted,” she continued, starry eyed. “Just absolutely adores little Clementine.”

“Clementine Dursley.” Harry acknowledged it wasn’t the worst name he’d ever heard.

“And she’s such a bright thing too, very clever already, you can just tell she’ll be quite something when she’s older-”

“Aunt Petunia, this is great, really.” Harry interrupted. “But I think maybe a letter could’ve done the trick?”

She glared at him, all joy gone from her face. “There’s been a development.”

“A development.”

“Yes.”

“With Dudley’s kid?”

“With your second cousin,” Aunt Petunia said pointedly. “Yes.”

“Right and this concerns me, how?” Harry said, confused.

Petunia shifted slightly in her seat, uncomfortable; a sight at which Harry felt only a twinge of satisfaction. “There was an incident.”

He waited but no details were forthcoming. “An incident.”

“Yes.”

“A development and now an incident? Merlin, it’s a wonder you haven’t called the BBC.”

Aunt Petunia looked furious. “How dare you make light of the situation-”

“A situation too?” Harry said, mockingly. “Aunt Petunia, what’s going on? Why are you in my flat at-” he checked his watch. “-eight thirty on a Sunday morning when we’ve spent the past six years wilfully ignoring each other?”

“Because it concerns you and _your sort!_ ” she snapped.

“My sort?” Harry echoed, warily. “What do you mean? Has something happened to the baby? Is she okay?” He wasn’t heartless enough to tease his aunt about the life of her only granddaughter.

Aunt Petunia huffed. “She’s fine as we can tell, considering she spent three hours last week on the ceiling!”

Harry paused, double checking his hearing. “Hang on, she spent-”

“Three hours!” Aunt Petunia wailed, looking caught between desperation and rage. “We tried to get her down and she just crawled away, laughing at the top of her lungs like it’s all some sort of game!”

“Dudley’s kid was on the ceiling.” Harry repeated, aghast. “Why?”

“ _That’s what I wanted to know from you!_ ” Aunt Petunia howled, settling on rage apparently. “We never had this sort of trouble with you until you were a little boy! No colour changing wallpaper, no bathtubs overflowing with bubbles, no _babies stuck to the ceiling!_ So what I’d like from you, Harry Potter, _is an explanation!_ ”

The pieces clicked into place so loudly Harry could hear the _clack_ reverberating inside his skull, revealing the completed image, as unlikely as it was. “Dudley’s daughter is magic.” He said, astonished by the very words. “She’s a witch.”

Petunia looked insulted. “She’s a Dursley!”

“She’s a _baby!_ ” Harry knew his mouth was open but he couldn’t figure out the button to close it. “What- I don’t- are you _sure?”_

“Am I sure that we spent what was otherwise a lovely Wednesday night chasing my two year old granddaughter around the ceiling?” Aunt Petunia trilled. “Quite!”

“I’ve never heard of magic at that sort of age.” Harry muttered, sitting back in his seat with a thump.

“So then?” Aunt Petunia demanded. “What’s your solution?”

“ _Me?_ ”

“Yes, you! You’ve obviously done this so _fix it!_ ”

“I’ve done this?” Harry repeated, bamboozled by the concept. “Aunt Petunia, I’ve never even met her!”

“No but you grew up with Dudley! We let you in to our home, raised you, clothed you, fed you and all that time, you were, were- _infecting_ our son!” Aunt Petunia accused, viciously. “I want it fixed! I want it fixed now!”

“Fixed? Petunia, magic’s not a disease!” Harry snapped, indignantly. “I didn’t infect Dudley, he just inherited whatever gene it was that gives people magic and _that_ he inherited, might I add-”

“Don’t you _dare-”_

“-from you.” Harry finished, sharply.

She had gone pale and trembling all over, rage in her features but very real fear in her eyes. He had never seen his aunt so worked up, not in all the years he’d spent at Privet Drive. Even watching them leave their home with strangers, Aunt Petunia had never appeared so afraid as she did now, at this: yet another a witch in the family and this one, her fault.

“There must be a solution.” She said after a long moment, lips barely moving. “Your sort can do all manner of things, unnatural and twisted and impossible, there _must_ be a cure for this.”

“I told you, it’s not a disease.” He said, bluntly. “There’s no fix for it.”

“There must be something.” She said, desperately. “Please, Harry, there has to be something-”

“Here’s a thought,” Harry said, his anger overwhelming his sense of pity for a moment. “Don’t lock her up in a cupboard.”

His aunt took the words like a physical blow. “We would _never-_ ” she said, in a low voice.

“Yes. You would. In fact, you did.” Harry cut her off, rising to his feet. “I think I’d like to you to leave now.”

Petunia followed suit, her sense of manners not allowing her to do otherwise. She left the water glass untouched on the table. At the door though, she stopped and turned to him urgently. “Come with me.” She said, suddenly. “To Dudley’s.”

“Why would I do that?” Harry said, wearily.

“He doesn’t know what he’s getting in to.” Petunia said, desperately. “He doesn’t understand-”

“He grew a tail when we were eleven and watched Aunt Marge blow up like a balloon and float away when we were thirteen, I think he understands a bit about magic.” Harry said, sarcastically.

“Not like this.” Petunia shook her head. “He’s scared and confused.”

“It’s Dudley, he’s confused about stop lights and how letter boxes work too.”

“He’s your cousin whether you like it or not!” she shrieked.

“And Clementine is your granddaughter whether you like it or not!” Harry retorted, feeling attacked.

“He’s family! So is she!” Petunia insisted.

“Funny way to treat family, isn’t it?” Harry snapped but the words had tugged on the last dreg of sympathy he had for his cousin, a place not so much deep inside Harry as it was distant and unused, a place which housed the words _I don’t think you’re a waste of space_ and the realisation that the Dursleys were the only biological family he had left in the entire world. A family which now included a little girl named Clementine who was, through no fault of her own, a witch.

Sensing he was softening, Petunia removed a piece of note paper from her purse and pushed it into his chest. “Dudley’s address. They’re a back house.”

And with that, Aunt Petunia left his flat and her nephew in quiet peace once again.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to write something else but more post-series Harry Potter headcanon wank came out instead??
> 
> I JUST LOVE ADULT!HARRY DOING HIS BEST OKAY I WONT APOLOGISE FOR IT


	2. IF I SEE THAT QUILL SO MUCH AS TWITCH, I’LL SNAP IT IN HALF.

TWO.

**IF I SEE THAT QUILL SO MUCH AS TWITCH, I’LL SNAP IT IN HALF.**

Clinging to the meagre shadows beside the bright orange backdoor, Harry kept the collar of his cloak up, obscuring his face as much as possible from the mid-lunch rush of Diagon Alley around him. His shaggy, overgrown hair concealed his scar but his face had become worryingly public in recent weeks. There seemed to be no end to the slew of photos of him splashed amongst the headlines of the Daily Prophet, Omen Magazine, the Owl Post and every other wizarding publication it seemed. Ginny had cut out and sent him an especially lovely shot of him outright growling at one reporter, attached with a short note: _Favourite so far. Keep up the good work, it’s excellent fodder for the girls._

It had given Harry an awful mental image of the entire Holyhead Harpies reservist team huddled about a single paper, ruthlessly critiquing each of the progressively worse pictures of him exiting the Ministry two weeks ago.

(He’d kept the note all the same.)

Though the patrons of Diagon Alley seemed more focused on lunch than the strange man hovering about the backdoor to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Harry felt prickly and uncomfortable being out in public. He’d never found much of a liking for crowds. He knocked again on the orange door, once, then three times and on the third time, the door swung open.

“Harry!” George greeted with his signature grin. His vest was unbuttoned and striped like a candy cane, giving him a sort of deranged, ginger Willy Wonka effect. “Good to see you, what’re you doing here?”

Suppressing an eye roll and ignoring the way a few curious passersby turned their heads at George’s voice, Harry was ushered inside. The backroom of Wheezes was part workshop, part laboratory, fitted with fizzing cauldrons and multicoloured vials, and hardy scratched wooden benches full of tools. George looked quite at home amongst the organised chaos. Despite mostly working behind a bench or testing his products or working the floor of the shop, he had somehow retained the stocky, muscular build that had set him apart from the other, lankier Weasley brothers. He bore his marks well too: a few extra scars from some of his tests-gone-wrong now and of course, the ever missing left ear which he made no attempt to conceal.

Harry didn’t breathe easy until the door closed behind him. “Thought I’d come bother Ron for a while,” he replied to George’s question, casually. “Haven’t had much chance to lately.”

The wizard’s grin fell to a grimace. “I heard. Rubbish business mate. Mum’s ropable. Keeps sending Dad to the Ministry with angry letters.”

The news made Harry’s mouth twitch upwards for just a second. “That’s good of her.”

“I imagine she’ll graduate to howlers any day now,” George continued with a glint of mischief in his eye. “They won’t know what hit them.”

“They never do when it comes to your Mum.” Harry said, ruefully.

George snorted in agreement and gestured to the spiral staircase tucked into the back corner which led to the office space above. “Ron’s upstairs, tearing his hair out over my finance reports. Glad I took him off your hands when I did to be honest. Don’t let on but he’s been somewhat helpful to have around, the nag.”

Harry felt a tiny, minuscule flinch at that but refused to show it. “I’ll keep mum about it. Thanks, George.”

Upstairs was, for starters, quieter than below which shared a wall with the main hub of the shop. One wall was papered with various marketing posters for Weasley Wizard Wheeze’s best selling products. A series of filing cabinets took up the other wall. Ron lay out flat on the floor between all this, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed, a litany of papers and parchment surrounding him. His hair, while a little manic, looked mostly intact to Harry.

“’Mione says it’s ridiculous that wizards don’t study mathematics at Hogwarts and I always said she was mad.” he suddenly said, voice muffled from his hand which had not moved. “I’m starting to think she may actually have a point.”

“Hermione’s never wrong.” Harry replied, distantly as he cleared a small patch off the enormous oak desk which split the middle of the room. He withdrew a brown paper bag from his cloak and tapped it with his wand. A heady, meaty smell filled the room. Ron finally perked up, eyes narrowed.

“Did you bring kebabs?” he asked, suspiciously.

Harry didn’t reply, just transfigured a pair of quills into (admittedly slightly wonky) plates upon he deposited their lunch: halal kebabs from the Turkish shop on Drummond.

When he was done, he extended a hand blindly to Ron who, swayed sufficiently by his curiosity and hunger, used it to tug himself to his feet with a groan. “I knew I picked you as my best friend for a reason.” he sighed, slumping into his chair while Harry took the seat opposite.

Harry shrugged as he settled in to eat. “Melik asked after you and Hermione.” He mentioned, off-handedly. “Asked when you guys were getting married. Again.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Between him and mum, they’ll plan a bloody wedding themselves before I even get a chance to propose.”

Harry snorted. “Now that’s a wedding I’d pay to see. Do you think he’d cater for you?”

His friend jerked a finger at him. “Don’t give them any ideas.”

Harry shrugged, noncommittally and tilted his head toward the papers on the floor. “George says you’re handling the finances.”

Ron scowled. “I’m fixing them, more like. George hasn’t so much as glanced over his financials since he opened the place.”

Harry frowned, with a touch of concern. “Is the shop in trouble?”

The wizard let out a groan. “I wish it was that simple. We should be making a killing but the profits are leaking from somewhere. I just have to find where and it’s in here,” he waved a hand, blithely. “Somewhere.”

For a moment, Harry considered his best friend and former partner. Many people underestimated Ron, an unfortunate by-product of being best friends with the Boy Who Lived and the Brightest Witch of Her Age. Mostly, they ignored it. Anyone who mattered knew Ron was brave and loyal and honest and that was enough. Even so, many had been somewhat confused when he left the Auror Department a year or so ago to help manage the administration of his brother’s business.

For his part, Harry found himself wondering what they’d say if they knew how many cases Ron had personally cracked during their partnership with his own straightforward, unconscious logic. He wondered if anyone ever guessed at the strategic, surprisingly mathematical mind Ron himself often seemed to forget he even had. There was a reason the youngest Weasley brother excelled at chess, Harry mused.

“It’ll turn up.” Harry tried to comfort but it seemed a little weak in view of the explosion of paper littered across the floor.

Ron continued with his lunch with a grunt. “It better. So are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“That’s a no, then.”

Harry sighed, unhappily. “No, I haven’t heard from the Ministry. No, I haven’t heard anything from the trial.” He recited, the same answers he’d been giving most people who asked.

Ron scowled and threw his screwed up napkin at his friend. “I know _that.”_

“Well, what else is there?” Harry bristled.

“Oh I don’t know,” the other wizard said, sarcastically. “How about, _how do you feel about being suspended from a career you’ve spent six years building_?”

“I’d say that sounds like a question from the Daily Prophet and I’d like to answer with my wand.”

Ron raised a brow, unfazed by Harry’s snark. “Yeah, I saw that answer in last week’s paper. Nice Jelly Bones Jinx, by the way. Hermione says you need to lift your elbow more.”

Harry’s scowl twitched into a smile for just a moment. “Thanks for the feedback.”

“Any time,” Ron replied breezily. “So back to the original question.”

“I don’t know, Ron.” Harry leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. “Everything’s still up in the air. Kingsley hasn’t even contacted me so it’s probably not great.”

“You think it might be permanent.” Ron said, in a carefully neutral voice.

Harry shrugged, affecting an equally blank expression. “Maybe.”

“Well that’d be a piss poor way to treat their best Auror,” Ron said, his ears turned slightly red but otherwise keeping his cool. Their training with the Department had quickly taught them both how to reign in the emotions from their outward expressions. Harry’s tell was his eyes which went flinty and hard. Ron’s was his ears which still flushed when angered. “Besides, Kingsley’ll have your back on this, you know that.”

“I don’t know if he’ll have much of a say.” Harry admitted, grudgingly. “I did technically attack a Wizengamot member.”

“Allegedly attacked.” Ron corrected.

Harry snorted. “There was nothing alleged about it.”

Ron frowned, a small glint of curiosity in his expression but he thankfully didn’t ask the unspoken questions which had been circulating for weeks: _what happened? Why’d you do it? What did he say?_ Instead, his best friend suddenly looked especially disinterested in the motivations. “Well he deserved it.” He said instead, loyally. Harry felt a sudden surge of immeasurable gratitude to have a friend like Ron Weasley.

“Thanks Ron.”

“Course.” Ron said, before continuing, a touch awkwardly but genuine all the same: “Look mate, if you wanna talk about it, I know what leaving’s like.”

“You retired.” Harry corrected, not unkindly. “Not quite the same as suspension.”

Ron allowed that. “I didn’t say I know what suspension’s like. I said I know what leaving’s like. Auror work, well it’s not exactly an easy gig but it’s hard to give it up and it’s not like you can really go outside much these days to let off some steam.”

“The flat is beginning to feel like a postage stamp.” Harry admitted begrudgingly.

“Your flat _is_ a postage stamp.” Ron corrected. “But listen, it’s hard in the beginning. You want to leave the work but it’s like the work won’t leave you. Hermione said I nearly drove her made for the first two months, patrolling around the building, checking the wards, interrogating the owls-”

Harry frowned. “Interrogating the-?”

“It was one time and that’s not the point.” Ron cut in, firmly. “The point is, I knew it was time for me to move on and it was still hard. S’gonna be even harder for you.”

Harry conceded Ron had a point but maybe not the one he meant to make.

However in a not-altogether rare display of intuition, instead of continuing, Ron began to Vanish the kebab wrappers and transfigured his quills back to their normal shape. “But enough business talk,” he said, loudly and brashly changing the subject. “What else is new then?”

Harry sat back in his seat, let out a noisy sigh and the words which he’d been bottling up inside his chest since eight o’clock that morning: “My aunt came to visit me.”

Ron paused in his tasks and tilted his head slowly, peering at Harry with knitted brows. “Your…aunt.”

“Yep.”

“Your magic-hating aunt who locked you in a closet and stuck bars on your bedroom window. That aunt.”

“I only have the one.”

“But…why?” Ron said, looking bewildered and then he paused with a mildly outraged expression. “Hang on, how’d she even find you?”

Harry leaned forward, energetically. “That’s what I said!” he exclaimed, validation running through his veins.

“Sometimes _I_ can’t even find you!” Ron complained. “Your flat has more protection charms than half of Whitehall.”

“Apparently,” Harry said, wryly. “She looked me up in the phone book.”

If possible Ron looked even more confused. “What’s a phone book?”

Harry shrugged, not wanting to get into the ridiculousness of the very idea that Harry Potter could be found in the Muggle phonebook. (He’d already made a mental note to check when he had a chance anyway. You know. Just in case.)

“So what’d she want?” Ron asked, uncomfortably. Understandably, he and the Dursleys had had a limited, hostile history, limited to shouting at Uncle Vernon over the phone and breaking Harry out of his room in Second Year.

“Dudley has a kid.” Harry said, keeping it to the point. “She’s magic. And that’s my fault, according to Aunt Petunia.”

“Blimey,” Ron said, brows raised. “That’s a big call to make.”

“I know,” Harry replied, moodily. “I told her it’s not a disease, you can’t catch it.”

Ron stood up, cracking his back as he went. “So what is she expecting you to do about it?” he enquired, fishing around in the filing cabinet on the far side of the room.

“Fix her, of course.” Harry said, mockingly. “There must be some way, amongst _my_ sort. She wants me to visit Dudley and meet the poor kid.”

Ron let out a small noise of triumph as he removed a small, dusty grey bottle from the cabinet. “Meet her? To do what? You can’t cure magic.”

“Aunt Petunia certainly thinks you can. Thinks _I_ can. She’s lost her mind, I mean, what am I meant to do? Show up at Dudley’s house after nearly a decade with a nice balloon and a card, sorry I missed the wedding and the birth of your daughter but I hear she’s turning the wallpaper yellow so I figure you might like a hand?” Harry said, sarcastically.

“I don’t think they make a card with all that.” Ron said, pensively, transfiguring the two quills from earlier into glasses. They somehow looked even wonkier as glasses than they had as plates but the pair of wizards shrugged.

“Why should I even bother?” Harry muttered as Ron poured them both a drink from the unmarked bottle. “The only kind words Dudley ever had for me was that I wasn’t a waste of space.”

“If I remember your cousin right, that might’ve been all the words he knew at the time.” Ron muttered back, sourly.

“I s’ppose I should be nicer. He has a kid now. I have a second cousin.” Harry said gloomily, taking a sip and immediately grimacing. “What in Circe’s name is that?”

Ron was also grimacing. “Not sure but I figured this conversation required a drink.”

They both peered into their glasses and almost in unison shrugged. “Whatever,” Harry said, with a tiny twitch of his mouth. “Better than that toilet water still Abbas used to pass around.”

Ron snorted. “Toilet water that made two people blind for half an hour.” They exchanged grins for a minute, recalling the particularly memorable Auror Christmas Party of 2003. Oh what a year. Ron’s grin fell into a more serious, thoughtful look. “What’re you gonna do then?”

“Not sure I’m up for a reunion with Duddikins.” Harry said, dryly.

Ron snorted. “I’d pass on it, personally.”

“Aunt Petunia’s said her piece,” he continued, eying his glass. “Maybe she’ll stay away from me if I’m such a bad influence.”

“But?”

“What but? There’s no but.”

“Oh bugger off,” Ron rolled his eyes. “That’s your _but I don’t think so_ tone.”

“My what?”

“Your _I don’t think so tone_ you use on cases.” Ron made a gesture. “Like, _well maybe he did jam his wand in his oven and blew up his house on accident but I don’t think so._ So. What’s the but?”

“There’s no tone.” Harry grumbled but finished his drink all the same, stalling as he put his words together. “But I don’t know. Like it or not, the Dursleys are all the blood family I have. This little girl, she’s not just Dudley’s kid, she’s my mum’s great niece. I just wonder if she’d be okay with me ignoring her.”

Ron scowled. “Harry. They locked you in a broom closet. I think your mum would be fine skipping dinner with your lunatic relatives.”

“It’s not skipping dinners though is it?” Harry said, a note of bitterness in his voice. “This is a kid who’s magic, growing up with Dursleys. I know what that’s like. Can’t say I’d recommend it.”

His friend looked troubled by the implication. “You think they’d do something to her? Their own kid?”

Harry didn’t want to think so. He was about to reply when George’s head popped up from the staircase connected to the lower workroom, his expression thunderous.

“Harry, I don’t know how but I think the press have got wind you’re here,” he said, cutting straight to the chase. “There’s a pack of them outside the shop and I think one or two might’ve already snuck in.”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances and immediately fell into action, following George back down to the workroom. “Floo?” Harry barked, listening to the noise from the shop proper which had grown steadily louder.

“Broken. It’s getting fixed next Wednesday.” Ron said, heading to the windows which looked out onto Diagon Alley, thankfully obscured from the inside to avoid rivals peeking on George Weasley’s latest products. “There’s a few outside. I think I see Hemmings and- blimey, is that Skeeter? Merlin, she’s eerie, not a single part of her face moves anymore.”

“So the Prophet and the Omen contingent. Perfect. They always go for my bad side,” Harry said, offhandedly as he cracked the door to the main shop open just an inch. Immediately a series of flashes popped off in a blinding array and he slammed the door shut. “They’re definitely inside your shop.” He informed George dryly.

George looked furious. “What is the point of having security wards if they just let any bloody one wander through?” he said, irritably.

“Can I Apparate out?” Harry asked, joining Ron at the window as they scanned the growing pack of reporters.

His friend shook his head. “There’s permanent anti-Apparation wards set up all through the shop against theft. We usually have to go outside to Apparate home.”

“Sometimes I wonder what kind of second rate show you’re running here, Weasley.” Harry teased, his voice tense.

“Only the best for the family business.” Ron replied back, equally dry but their attentions were both fixed on the growing pack outside, their well trained Auror-instincts kicking in. For a second, it was like they’d never left. Ron was right; leaving the work behind was one thing but leaving the training was altogether different.

“You could stay here a while if you want?” George offered from behind them. “Until they go away.”

“They’re more likely to wait with me.” Harry cracked a small, self-deprecating smile. “Better to just face them while they’re still gathering.”

Ron scowled for a second and then turned to his brother with his stern Auror Weasley look. “George, that trick-fork, where is it? The one that gives people headaches?”

George frowned. “The Earsplitter? Behind you, there, but it doesn’t work yet, the frequency isn’t right. It’s not going to affect any of those vultures.”

“I know but the range is fine.” Ron replied impatiently as he rifled through the chaos of the work benches to find what looked like a silver tuning fork attached to a bizarre looking glass handle filled with tiny orange sparks. “I have an idea, come on then.”

He and Harry took either sides of the backdoor, wands out but pointed to the floor for now. Standard Auror practise. With a quick nod between them, Harry flung the door open from one side. Ron stepped into doorway, tapped the fork against the door jam and pointed the strange contraption towards the flood of camera flashes.

The effect of the low, nasal ringing was immediate: one after the other, the bulbs of each camera began to quake and then shatter, glass raining down onto the cobblestones with a gentle tinkering sound. The lenses split in half from the force of the fork’s vibration. At least two pairs of glasses were irretrievably ruined.

While it didn’t cause a headache, Harry had to admit, George’s Earsplitter was a nifty little act of vandalism.

The cries and shouts followed soon after as the wizards began to inspect their broken gear. A few angry calls for damages to be paid that the pair of them outright ignored. Looking very self-satisfied, Ron lifted the fork to his lips, blowing off the tip as though he was a cowboy in an old Western film but Harry couldn’t bring himself to regret showing them to his friend who had just saved his arse, once again.

After all: no cameras, no photos. No photos, no stories.

“Weasley is our King.” he nudged Ron with his elbow as he exited the shop. Ron caught his friend’s arm as he passed.

“Catch you soon. Bring more kebabs.” He added, sternly before sending him off with a grin.

A few of the reporters noticed the exchange and, sensing their quarry was about to make a run for it, began to shout and holler, hoping to catch a quote they still might use.

“Harry! Harry, do you have any further insight into the ongoing trial of Wilbur Tiltenhaus-”

“Mr Potter, have you heard from your superiors at the Ministry?”

“Harry, do you believe your early childhood trauma may have contributed to your disturbing pattern of violence?”

The last question, following on the heels of his talk with Ron, made his teeth grind. “Skeeter, nice to see you again or at least, what’s left.” Harry said coolly as he pushed his way through the group of them.

“Come on Harry, won’t you give me a quote, for old times’ sake?” she called, though the voice was muffled by the lack of muscle movement around her mouth. Helga help her, Ron was right. It was downright eerie how little expression was left in the old hag’s face.

He caught a glimpse of her Quick Quotes Quill moving with fervour and scowled. “Skeeter, I’m warning you, if I see that quill so much as twitch around the words ‘tears in his eyes’ or ‘haunted by his past’, I’ll snap it in half.”

The quill paused instantly, as did several others. Harry threw especially flinty look towards the crowd and all of the quills finally ceased. “I am not able to discuss Ministry affairs with members of the public.” He recited the press line all Aurors were taught from day one. “If you have questions, you are welcome to contact the Ministry directly and they will respond in all due time.”

Without their flashing cameras or scribbling quills, the reporters were left looking sour mouthed and sulky as Harry simply Apparated away, all evidence of his visit lying in shattered pieces on the alley’s cobblestones.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yes hello, thank you for enjoying adult!harry-trying-his-best i'm really glad you're all rooting for him too. this one is super long, sorry. but hey, dudley next chapter. woo hoo?


	3. A PARROT. NAMED MILDRED. SHE'S VERY NEEDY.

THREE

A PARROT. NAMED MILDRED. SHE’S VERY NEEDY.

He’d tried to forget the address on Aunt Petunia’s note. He even went so far as to set it aflame in his sink until it was nothing but a pile of ash. But then he realised the ash would probably get everywhere if he didn’t clean it out and then, while he flushed and scrubbed the ashy remains out of his sink, Harry had started wondering if he was making a mistake by not visiting his cousin. Not a question he ever thought he’d have to ask himself but then, well, here they were.

Three days later, he received a note from Kingsley that made his decision for him. The note was little more than a scrap of parchment, carried on the wings of an enormous black owl with an incredibly judgemental tilt to his feathered brow:

_Harry,_

_No news on the trial yet but for Godric’s sake, stop antagonising the press. Will let you know as soon as I have anything, I promise._

The word promise was underlined twice and below his scribbled signature was a tiny postscript: _Tell Weasley I’m interested in one of those forks._

No news was good news, he tried to tell himself but the weight of knowing he might have ruined the Tiltenhaus trial entirely was heavy and looming and infuriating. No amount of sitting in his apartment waiting for news or visiting well-meaning friends or snapping at the paparazzi could dispel it.

So instead, he decided, since most wizarding locations were somewhat off limits to him at present, maybe he ought to give the Muggle world a try. It was perhaps the last place anyone would think to look for him after all, and he figured for the newest little Dursley’s sake that he ought to at least tell Dudley to his face that there was no way to remove the magic from his daughter.

Maybe he’d listen closer than Aunt Petunia had, especially if Harry used small enough words.

At least, this was the excuse Harry gave himself when he appeared from behind the concrete bus shelter, poised on the mouth of Keller Circle where Dudley Dursley lived with his wife Karen and daughter Clementine. As it turned out, he’d memorised the address before setting on fire, a fact which he refused to analyse further.

Harry let out a long noisy breath and casually glanced up and down the street but no one seemed even the faintest bit interested in the tall, dark haired man in a long coat who’d mysteriously appeared out of thin air. Truthfully he hadn’t expected anyone to be interested. Dudley may have moved away from his childhood home but the neighbourhood he’d chosen could have been Little Whinging’s slightly cheaper but no less ordinary younger brother. Even the house at Number Seven faintly resembled Number Four, Harry mused. Quite a bit smaller and certainly less manicured but there was something in the house’s shape – the little path that led to the door and the flowerbeds under the window – that seemed familiar to him. He wondered faintly if there was a convenient cupboard under the stairs and then immediately chastised himself. Aunt Petunia had seemed genuinely affectionate toward her grandchild. She’d even tracked down her disgrace of a nephew to ask for help, though Harry had no help to actually administer. But then again, Harry figured, he wouldn’t be here if there hadn’t been a tiny shred of worry in his mind for a magical child growing up with Dursleys.

There was a certain kind of relief to being able to walk across the street and knock on the front door of 7 Keller Circle without sensing people staring at him or having cameras flashed in his face. But there was no room in his churning gut to enjoy the feeling. A few minutes passed. Then a few minutes more. Harry considered knocking again, all the while wondering if he should take it as a sign to leave but when he raised his hand, the door swung open with a frenetic speed.

“ _SHHH!!”_ the man hissed, eyes wide and panicked. “ _I just got her to sleep-_ Harry? _”_

Dudley seemed stuck, bewildered by the sight of his cousin on his door step. Harry found himself unable to keep from staring right back.

Dudley was- well, he looked _rough._

Gone were the days of private school uniforms or fancy tracksuits with spotless expensive sneakers. He wore a wrinkled t-shirt and worn sweatpants. Plump as ever, his jowls were covered in stubble, his hair thin but unkempt. Twin purple shadows beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and stress. He looked like any other overworked, sleep deprived Dad who had just discovered his daughter was capable of animating her own toys and had no idea what to do about it.

Harry abruptly realised they’d been staring at each other for probably a fraction too long and quickly blinked, clearing his surprise. “Er, hi Dudley.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Harry said, awkwardly, wondering what Dudley made of him in return: taller than he’d been at seventeen, filled out thanks to years of hard Auror training, his hair still unmanageable but certainly longer over the telltale scar. Did he seem as different Dudley as Dudley seemed to him?

“What- I mean, what’re you-” Well, at least his cousin’s ability to form full sentences seemed to have remained about the same.

“Well,” Harry said, deeply uncomfortable with the words he was about to say: “Your mum asked me to come.”

His confusion was overtaken by a weary, graceless kind of annoyance. “Oh bloody hell, mum.” he cursed, gripping the door in one meaty hand.

Harry paused at the reaction. “So…I take it you didn’t ask her to contact me?” The question had occurred to him over the past few days.

“No.” Dudley grunted, finally seeming to remember where he was and looked about quickly. “Bugger, come on, get inside before someone sees you.”

“Ahh, that’s more like it,” Harry said, cheerfully as he stepped inside the house. “The Dursley family welcome.”

“Shut up.” Dudley snapped, closing the door quickly.

“This is...nice.” Harry said, glancing around the home. It was cramped and a little messy. There were baskets of washing around the place, a pile of letters and papers covering the side table and it was covered in frankly _awful_ wallpaper but the house remained oddly…homey. The rug in the middle of the room was studded with brightly coloured children’s toys. A series of framed photos decorated the mantle. There was a vase full of fake flowers on the little coffee table. It showed signs of being well cared for, despite the current state of unrest. “You look...taller.” he added, scrambling for an adjective that wasn’t _tired, dirty_ or _worn out._

Dudley threw him a dirty look all the same. “I’ve taken some time off work lately.” He said, stiffly. “There’s been some stuff to take care of. Around the house.”

Harry hummed knowingly. “Oh, I’ll bet.”

“Shut up,” he said again but it lacked the kind of venom Harry usually associated with his cousin. Instead, he just sounded tired. “So how’d she find you? Send you a letter by one of those stupid crows, did she?”

“They’re owls,” Harry corrected mildly. “But no, though I’d pay to see Aunt Petunia try to use one. She paid me a visit.”

“She pai- what, in _your_ world?” Dudley looked deeply unsettled by the idea of his mother setting foot in a wizarding establishment of any kind, even one as benign as Harry’s apartment building. Frankly, Harry could empathise.

“I’m in the phone book apparently.” The wizard stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “So. Congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“A girl, right?” Harry said in a forcefully casual tone.

“Yeah. Clementine. Clem for short.” Dudley said, flatly. “S’ppose Mum told you about her.”

Harry edged towards the sofa nearby, leaning against the back of it, trying not to project how completely skin-peelingly uncomfortable it felt to be in Dudley Dursley’s house. “It might’ve come up.” He hinted.

“Well, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t care what she said,” Dudley began to bluster, drawing himself up to his full height which was about the same as Harry’s, though he was probably twice as wide. “You’re not taking her anywhere and I’ll break your bloody hands if you try-”

Harry, resorting to his old strategy when it came to Dudley threatening him, casually removed his wand from his pocket. The effect, he was happy to report, was still the same: Dudley immediately cut himself off, instead eying the wand with equal parts distaste and wariness.

“I don’t know what nonsense your mum’s been spouting but she hasn’t asked me to take your kid anywhere, Duddikins.” Harry stated in a calm, logical fashion. “So you can knock it off with the threats, alright?”

Flicking his gaze between Harry and the wand, Dudley nodded reluctantly. Some of his earlier confusion came back to his resting, haggard expression as he registered the words. “I don’t get it then. What’re you doing here, Harry?”

Well, wasn’t that a question?

In the end, he went as simple as possible. “Your mum wanted me to fix it.”

Dudley blinked once. “Fix what?”

Harry waved his wand-free hand in a vague gesture. “The whole magic thing. She wants me to make it go away.”

Dudley blinked again. “Can you- can you do that?”

The blatant hope in Dudley’s voice immediately soured Harry’s mood. “No.” he snapped, waspishly. “Magic isn’t a disease, you can’t cure it and frankly, if you’re going to treat it like one maybe you shouldn’t-”

“Dudley? What’s- oh, we have company.” A voice interrupted from the door leading to the kitchen. The woman Harry figured was Karen Dursley was average in height and fair in her looks, her voice tinged with just a hint of an accent. Something Northern maybe. She seemed nice enough, but clearly just as tired as Dudley, though it was better hidden beneath layers of masterfully applied makeup and acrylic nails. She peered curiously at Harry while the blood began to drain from Dudley’s face.

“Karen!” he blurted out, looking like he might faint any second with sheer panic. “This is- well I- this-”

“My name’s Harry,” Harry introduced, summoning a polite but bland smile. He quickly tucked his wand back in his pocket. “Dudley and I knew each other as kids. I was just dropping past, thought I’d say hi.”

“I thought I’d met all your friends,” Karen said, a note of suspicion in her voice but which soon gave way to the etiquette good manners demanded when greeting guests. “I mean it’s lovely to meet you, Harry, of course.”

“You as well. Couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. Big D, getting married. What a world.” Harry laughed lightly, somewhat perversely enjoying the way Dudley seemed to sway, face still bloodless.

“That’s kind of you Harry. But, um, I’m afraid we’re not really fit for company right now.” She added, her tone of voice just a fraction short of pointed as her eyes flitted around at the mess. More good manners. Harry idly wondered how she got on with her mother-in-law.

“Oh not to worry,” Harry interrupted quickly. “I won’t stay long, just in and out to say hi.”

“You should use the telly room!” Karen suggested, brightly but firmly. “Dudley, why don’t you two go catch up in the telly room.”

As though helpless to say otherwise, Dudley began to stagger towards the adjacent room and after a beat, Harry followed. When the door closed, Dudley slumped into the armchair positioned in front of the television set, looking miserable.

“So I’m going to go ahead and guess you haven’t told your wife _why_ her daughter is suddenly crawling on the ceiling?” Harry finally broke the silence.

“Of course I haven’t.” Dudley moaned into his hands. “She’s still trying to convince herself it might be some kind of skin condition.”

“Skin condition huh?” Harry hummed, thoughtfully. As far as explanations went, it wasn’t bad.

“What am I gonna tell her?” Dudley fretted. “She wants to take Clemmie to the doctor, see if we can get medicine for her. She’s been looking up message boards online for god’s sake.”

Harry winced a little. “I’d probably avoid going to a doctor. Medically speaking, Muggles and wizards are pretty much the same species. You’ll both just look like lunatics.”

Dudley tilted his head up out of his hands, glaring at his cousin. “Of course we will!” he exclaimed, angrily. “Muggles, magic, wizards, how am I meant to explain any of it _without_ sounding like a lunatic?!”

“Well you have a little bundle of proof that you’re telling the truth.” Harry said, sarcastically. “Maybe that’ll convince her?”

“She’ll leave me.” Dudley said, bluntly. “If she knows I knew before we- she’ll leave me and Clem. I can’t- I can’t do that.”

“She’s going to notice, Dudley.” Harry said, slowly and incredulously. “She already has, by the sounds of it.”

Dudley fell silent, clutching his head and Harry gingerly took a seat on the small leatherette couch beside him.

“I was hoping it might go away.” Dudley finally said, wearily. “You weren’t… _you know…_ all the time. When we were kids, I mean. I thought maybe she’d be normal most of the time.”

Harry suppressed an eye roll, forcibly softening his tone as he tried to piece an answer together as simply as possible. “Look, it doesn’t work like that. Even when I’m not _doing_ magic, _I’m_ always magic. It’s not something you can turn off, it’s just who I am.”

Dudley groaned, pressing his thumbs into his eye sockets. “She’s so small Harry.” He said after a long pause. “She’s so small and she’s so perfect but she’s making the curtains bloody sing _,_ what am I meant to _do?_ ”

Before Harry could attempt respond to that very legitimate query with what was sure to be a very eloquent and well prepared answer, a knock on the door made them both stand quickly. Karen popped her head in, looking somewhat frazzled. “Sorry to interrupt!” she said in a high pitched voice. “Just thought I’d ask if Harry was staying for tea?”

Harry and Dudley exchanged a look of wordless horror and in a moment of rare but complete synchronicity, they cried out: “ _No!”_

“I-I mean I’d love to but I can’t-” Harry stumbled, grappling for an excuse – _any_ excuse – not to sit between his lumbering cousin and his poor unwitting wife and discuss the weather over dinner. “I’ve got- er-I have-”

“Harry has a parrot.” Dudley blurted out.

“Named Mildred.” Harry continued immediately, committed to taking the lie as far as he possibly could. “She’s very needy.”

Dudley nodded frantically. “He has to feed her. Soon, I mean.” With that, he elbowed his cousin in the side with roughly the equivalent force of a ticked off rhinoceros.

Smothering the _oof_ noise of his ribs being crushed into his lungs and making a great show of peering at his battered old watch, Harry exclaimed, “Now, in fact! Wow, is that the time? I’d best be off. It was lovely to meet you Karen. Nice to see you again Dudley.”

It was to the great advantage of the two cousins that Karen did not seem the least bit interested in their concocted story. She was too busy looking caught between relief that Harry would not be staying for dinner and preoccupation with whatever was sleeping (or _had_ been sleeping, perhaps) on the second floor.

“Well, visit again soon, Harry!” she said, distractedly.

“I’ll walk you out.” Dudley grunted, leading his cousin outside. With that, the door closed, leaving just the pair of them standing on the stoop of Number Seven alone.

“A parrot?” Harry finally said, flatly.

“Shut up.” His cousin said, wearily and the pair fell into a thick, brewing silence. Dudley looked like he was in the process of swallowing a frog when he finally spoke again: “Is there- I mean, is Clem okay?”

Harry frowned at him, puzzled by the question. “What do you mean?”

For a moment, Dudley’s expression cleared of discomfort, revealing a flash of pure, unadulterated worry. For his kid, Harry realised. Because he was a Dad now and dads worried about their kids. Duddikins as a dad. What a world, indeed.

Dudley continued, bluntly. “Mum says you weren’t like this. She even- I mean, I asked her if Lily...” he said the name with a lilting unfamiliarity that made Harry shift uncomfortably. “But she said she was older when she started...showing signs.”

Harry hesitated. “Clementine is pretty young,” he agreed cautiously. “But I’m not really an expert on magical children. I don’t know what’s normal.”

The next question was spoken with the same kind of energy projected during a particularly nasty dental appointment involved pulling teeth: “Could you find out?” Dudley said through gritted teeth.

“About…magical kids?” Harry clarified, slowly.

“I just- if it’s not normal... if it’s not _good_ \- I don’t – there’s not really – look, can you just find out or not?” he finally said with a mix of desperation and exasperation.

Letting out a long sigh, Harry allowed himself a brief pause before he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I can do that. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks.” Dudley grunted, looking incredibly unhappy with the word but also perhaps moderately relieved. No sooner had he spoken it than a loud _bang!_ erupted from upstairs.

Karen flung the door open, face taut with panic. “Dudley, there are _fireworks-_ oh! Harry! I thought- Dudley, sorry but I need- there’s just something upstairs-” she babbled, urgently.

Dudley’s relief transformed to panic in a split second. “Better go. See you.” He said shortly and then door slammed shut, though not before Harry heard another _bang!_ from upstairs.

Stepping off the stoop, Harry took three steps down the path which bisected the small front garden and peered upwards at the visible window which was ever so slightly ajar. Pink, violet, green lights flashed against the glass with fervour, punctuated every now and then with muffled but energetic _bangs!_ and a squealing laughter.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, Harry let out a groan. “Merlin what am I getting in to?”

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAGICAL CHILDREN EH HARRY. WHEREVER WILL YOU FIND ONE OF THOSE HMMMM?  
> a short one today methinks. 
> 
> also, to everyone who reads this, I hope you're all safe and healthy and with people who care about you.


	4. IT DOESN'T GO ANY HIGHER THAN FOUR AND A HALF FEET, I CHECKED.

FOUR

IT DOESN’T GO ANY HIGHER THAN FOUR AND A HALF FEET, I CHECKED.

It would probably not surprise many to know that Harry Potter did not know many magical children.

Not personally at least. He knew the Weasley grandchildren, Bill and Fleur’s girls Victoire and Dominique, who chattered on in an incomprehensible mix of French and English, fluidly switching back and forth, sometimes in the same sentence. They’d been the only ones until Percy’s wife Audrey had announced her first pregnancy last November. She was due by mid year, to the delight of her parents.

He was occasionally approached by children in public; mostly younger ones with absolutely no shame who wanted to know if he was _really_ Harry Potter because Harry Potter had a _scar_ and they couldn’t _see_ a scar even though mummy said it _was_ him, the _real_ Harry Potter, from the Chocolate Frog cards. Albeit, due to the unflattering newspaper coverage, this sort of reaction had dried up a little.

But there was, however, one child in particular who Harry knew quite well. A child who, in Harry’s humble opinion, more than made up for his other lack of experience.

“And this one has the Muggle Queen on it,” Teddy explained, gesturing to the small pink coloured square. “Nana bought it for me for my birthday.”

Harry hummed, peering at the collection with close attention. “I remember that one. But what about this one, he seems new?”

Edward Remus “Teddy” Lupin was seven years old, obsessed with the Muggle postal service, bugs and making noise. One day, he hoped to marry Hermione (whom he had met several times and simply adored) or George Weasley (who had met only once but who owned the _best shop ever_ ). He was also of the steadfast opinion that his godfather was the single most amazing wizard on the planet, not necessarily as ‘ _the_ Harry Potter’ but simply by virtue being ‘Harry’.

At that moment, much as they did most Sundays, they sat at Andromeda’s kitchen with peanut butter sandwiches and Teddy’s budding stamp collection, waiting for her to return from her errands. Harry treasured the time to an extent which had surprised himself early on but with which he had become quite comfortable as Teddy grew older.

The boy in question narrowed his eyes at the stamp in question with a wrinkled brow while he thought. The expression was so Tonks-like, Harry smiled a little to see it. “Mr Murphy gave it to me!” the boy finally exclaimed, remembering. “He says his sister is a Muggle and she sends him letters all the time.”

“A good source then.” Harry nodded, approvingly.

Teddy grinned up at the older wizard. “He says he’d give me more but Nana says I mustn’t be greedy.” As he spoke, his hair began to curl spontaneously, the colour darkening to a pitch black, his eyes similarly flashing from warm brown to bright green. The unconscious transformation was the work of moments. Teddy didn’t seem to have noticed at all.

Harry had grown quite used to his godson’s Metamorphagus abilities. When he was smaller, he used to take on the appearance of whoever he wanted to play with him or hold him. Harry had often come to visit only to be greeted by a tiny black haired baby who lit up and made grabby hands for him.

Now that he was older, he seemed to simply adopt the look of whoever he spoke to at the time, though sometimes Harry would still arrive to find a seven year old miniature of himself sitting on the front steps, waiting for him. It was a heady - mildly terrifying - feeling, being Teddy’s favourite. But Harry was determined to live up to it.

“I could introduce you?” Teddy suggested hopefully. “Nana said I’m allowed to go visit if I have someone with me.”

Harry considered it but even in a wizarding town as small as East Brightpeel, too many people knew he was the boy’s godfather, too many more knew about Teddy’s Metamorphagus abilities. He didn’t fancy his odds of going unrecognised, even if he’d been able to disguise himself as well as Teddy. “How about we make plans for next time?” Harry suggested instead. “You could send Mr Murphy a letter yourself asking what time suits him, with its own stamp and everything. He might even reply with one back.”

Teddy looked unbearably excited by the prospect, though he looked down at his collection with apprehension. “But which one should I use?” he fretted, brow furrowed in his Tonks-like expression again.

Harry was saved from having to answer by the small _pop!_ of Andromeda Apparating on to the front steps, back from her shopping trip.

“Hi Nana!” Teddy greeted happily as she closed the front door behind her, a basket full of brown paper parcels in one arm and a netted bag of groceries slung over the opposite elbow.

She smiled back at him, tossing her grey streaked hair over her shoulders. “Hello little love. Hello Harry.”

So many years on from the war, Harry found it difficult to compare Andromeda Tonks to her sister as he once had. The striking resemblance to the visage of Bellatrix Lestrange hadn’t faded but after seven years of knowing her as Teddy’s beloved Nana, her strong, delicately arched brows rather made him think of Tonks, the same way he saw Sirius in her sharp cheekbones and the aristocratic tilt of her mouth.

“Teddy, let’s help Nan with the shopping, hey?” Harry said, standing to help the older witch with her bags.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said warmly and tilted her head outside. “There’s another parcel outside if you don’t mind, young man.” She told Teddy who clambered out of his seat to go help.

“You know they don’t weigh anything.” Andromeda told Harry with an arched brow, as soon as her grandson left the room. “I’ve been putting Weightless Charms on these old things for years.”

Harry shrugged as he took the admittedly weightless basket of parcels. “Being helpful is a good habit to have.”

Andromeda chuckled. “I’d rather he made a habit of keeping his room tidy but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”

The front door banging shut behind him, Teddy rushed back to them, his little arms wrapped around a small brown paper wrapped parcel. “Nana, Harry said we can send a letter to Mr Murphy to meet him next week!” he rambled breathlessly. His hair shortened and lightened so quickly it seemed like a trick of the light, his eyes similarly taking on Andromeda’s warm almond brown.

“Mr Murphy?” Andromeda repeated.

“Yeah!” Teddy brightened, setting the parcel down. “I told Harry about the stamp he saved for me!”

“Yes, that was very kind of him, wasn’t it?” she said, lightly. If Harry hadn’t known better he would’ve said there was a faint blush in her cheek.

“Mr Murphy’s great! Sometimes he lets me play with his telly because he says his nieces used to like watching it when they were my age but they’re all growed up now.” Teddy continued to babble, idly playing with his stamp collecting book. “We went there last week and we had tea, well Nana and Mr Murphy had tea and I got to play with Mr Murphy’s video player, did you know Muggles can watch movies on video tapes, Harry?”

Harry politely did not call attention to the fact that Andromeda was turning pinker and pinker with every minute. “Ted, I think Nana might need the table to put away her shopping.” he said instead, kindly. “Why don’t you put your stamps away in your room and then we can go play outside for a little while, okay?”

Teddy perked up at that. “Okay, Harry!” he scooped up the book and charged upstairs.

“And add a tidy up while you’re up there young man!” Andromeda called, sternly. “I saw under that bed this morning, pushing all your dirty clothes under there doesn’t make them clean!”

The pair of them heard a whine and a thump, followed by a much burdened: “ _Yes, Nana.”_

Harry sat back down at the kitchen table, watching as Andromeda dutifully ignored him, putting away her shopping quickly and efficiently.

“So,” Harry said, with equal parts awkwardness and amusement. “Mr Murphy, hm?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that, Harry.” Her tone of voice was almost haughty with dismissal.

“Nothing,” he said with a small smile. “Nothing at all. I’m glad Teddy’s found a new friend.”

She promptly grimaced. “I’m certainly glad this one only has two legs.” She said, deftly changing the subject. “I caught him trying to sneak in a frog the other day.”

“Frogs can make good pets.” He pointed out, thinking of Neville and his toad Trevor, who, as far as Harry knew, had gone missing a few years back and never resurfaced. 

Andromeda raised a single brow, unimpressed. “He’ll receive a proper pet when the time comes and no sooner.” She said with a note of warning in her voice. “Unlike that broomstick you both think I don’t know about.”

Harry’s smile faded instantly into a wince. “It was a birthday gift?” he tried.

Andromeda raised a single brow.

Harry folded. “I promise, it doesn’t go any higher than four and a half feet, I checked.”

Andromeda hummed. “Oh, I know. That’s why he’s been allowed to keep it. Well, that and the fact that as long as he thinks I don’t know he has it, he’ll only use it when you’re around to supervise him.”

Harry blinked. “That’s pretty ingenious.”

“I had practise.” She replied, knowingly with a small, nostalgic smile. “Nymphadora got her first broom when she was six. Her father couldn’t refuse her anything, let alone something he loved so much as well.”

Abruptly reminded of the matter he’d been meaning to discuss, Harry cleared his throat. “Actually I wanted to ask you about her. Tonks, I mean.”

“Oh?” the older witch said, distractedly as she put away what looked like potions ingredients.

“How old was she when she first started showing magic?”

Andromeda paused, tilting her head as she thought back. “Well, her hair started to change colour from the moment she was born.” She said, finally with a small smile flitting about her lips. “I didn’t notice at first, I was rather a little preoccupied but later, Ted asked me if it was normal for wizards to have a red headed child one minute and a blonde the next.” She laughed.

Harry frowned. “But it was just her Metamorphagus abilities? Nothing else?”

She turned to him fully, confused. “Not as a newborn, no. Why do you ask, Harry?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Someone asked me about early signs of magic,” he said vaguely, not wanting to explain the whole saga with the Dursleys. “And I realised I didn’t know anything. The only magical kid I know is Teddy and as far as I know, he hasn’t shown any signs yet apart from the whole…” He waved a hand across his face, obviously.

Andromeda took a seat opposite him, arranging her skirts as she did. “It depends on the child, obviously.” She explained. “Metamorphagi show signs as soon as they’re born, it’s an unconscious ability. The Healers even told us not to expect any accidental magic with Dora because of it. Often their ability channels it to an extent, which we were thrilled about of course.” She shuddered. “Some cases of early childhood magic can be downright explosive.”

“Explosive?” Harry echoed. “What do you mean?”

“I remember a visit for tea at Grimmauld Place a few years before Sirius left for Hogwarts during which he staunchly refused to wear the shirt Aunt Walburga had laid out for him.” Andromeda smiled slightly, recalling the event. “He launched into a tantrum which shattered every clock face, glass goblet and window in the house.”

Harry was suddenly besieged with a vision of Clementine Dursley throwing a similar tantrum and found himself blanching. “Really? Is that, well, normal?” he continued, weakly.

“I suppose so.” Andromeda shrugged elegantly. “It’s said that often the younger, the more powerful they’ll become. I’m afraid it really does depend on the child.”

A few years before Hogwarts age, Harry thought with a sinking feeling of dread. It sounded as though Dudley may have been right to worry: Clementine sounded young even by wizard standard to be making fireworks go off in her room.

The _thud, thud, thud_ of Teddy’s footsteps careening down the staircase was about all the warning he had before the boy launched at him, looping his arms around Harry’s neck in a tight hug. “I cleaned up my room _and_ I put my stamps away, can me and Harry play outside now Nan?”

“Harry and I,” Andromeda corrected but she nodded. “Off with you both, go ransack my garden.” Over the top of Harry’s head, she gestured to Teddy with two fingers, mouthing: _watch him._

Harry nodded, sheepishly and heaved out of his chair, taking the boy with him who shrieked with laughter as he clung on for dear life, feet dangling. “Come on then, let’s get out of Nan’s hair.”

When the backdoor closed, Harry set Teddy down and the boy wasted no time in unearthing the long wooden box from the dirt at the base of Andromeda’s broad-leaved plum tree. He presented it with an air of immense excitement and conspiracy, practically vibrating in place.

With Andromeda’s warning in mind, Harry turned the box over with a slightly keener eye than he usually did. “It doesn’t _look_ like you’ve been playing with it.” He said mildly but with a note of suspicion in his tone.

Teddy bounced twice on his heels. “I promise I haven’t!” he whined, desperately. “I kept it under the plums, I haven’t touched it!” Harry hummed, inspecting the small copper lock on the front as though it could reveal any tampering (which it could not) and Teddy let out a small whine. “I mean, I dug it up one time,” he said in a rush. “But it was just to look at it, I didn’t try to open it, I _swear_!”

Placing the box aside, Harry knelt before the boy with a solemn expression. “Teddy, we talked about this.” He said, calmly but seriously. “It’s not safe to be flying around on your own just yet. We promised each other, remember? I’ll come visit as often as I can so you can practise but you can’t do it without someone there to help.”

Teddy looked down, shamefaced. “I wanted to practise so I’d be better when you got here.” He said in a mumble. “I want to be a Seeker. Like you were.”

With his hair the same pitch black, wild mess as his own, Harry felt like he was looking at himself about to get a scolding from his Uncle Vernon and his gut twisted violently. He lowered his head until he could meet the seven year old’s gaze. “You’re doing really, really well, Teddy.” He said, earnestly. “And you’re just gonna get better and better until you’ll be able to fly circles around me. Even Ginny said she was impressed last time she came.”

Teddy perked up, eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Really?” he breathed, in awe.

“Really, really.” Harry assured him. “But being good at something also means knowing how to do it safely, right?”

“Right.” Teddy agreed, reluctantly.

“So no more trying to practise without me here, okay?” Harry said, slightly stern and Teddy nodded so quickly it looked like his ears might fly off.

“Can we try doing a loop today?” he pleaded. “Please?”

Harry chuckled, tapping the lock on the box with his wand. The lid sprung open, revealing mauve coloured, velvet lining upon which was nestled a broom, just under four feet in length, with smooth, well kept golden brown bristles. “I think we’ll start with some general technique first.” He said firmly, removing the broom and placing it on the grass before his godson.

Teddy held a hand over it. With a deep breath, he said in a firm voice: “ _Up!_ ” and the broom surged upwards into his grasp. The look of awe on his face was one which never lessened no matter how many times he did it. “Cool.” He whispered.

“Very cool.” Harry agreed, gesturing to the open grass with his wand. “ _Culciticas!_ ”

The grass trembled for a moment as though a strong breeze had passed over it before going motionless once more. When Harry trod on it hard with his foot, it sprang back as though the green blades were sprouting out of an enormous mattress. “Now do you remember how to hover?”

Teddy nodded and began to mount his broom, kicking off with practised ease, up into the air until he hovered at the very highest the broom would allow him. Harry raised a brow at him and he sank a little lower, looking sheepish. “Sorry Harry.” he said, though he only looked sorry to be caught.

“Do a few laps and then hover,” Harry instructed, casting his mind back to his first year flying lessons with Madame Hooch. “Then back the other way and hover again.”

“And then we can try loops?” Teddy said hopefully as he began to circle the space, slowly but confidently.

Harry snorted. “You’re trying to incite your Nana to murder.” he said under his breath but out loud, he simply shrugged and called out: “Let’s see how you go with rolling.”

Teddy let out a whoop, taking his laps a little faster but Harry didn’t have the heart to make him slow down, not with his expression overtaken with exuberant joy as it was. They flew for almost an hour; first practising hovering and then some very basic rolls which mostly ended with Teddy falling off the broom and bouncing off the springy enchanted grass like it was a trampoline, though he seemed thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Did you see that last one?” he panted, lying flat on his back as his broom tumbled to the grass beside him from mid air. “I was so close! I almost did the whole roll!”

Harry sat down beside him with a grin. “It looked pretty whole to me,” he agreed, ruffling Teddy’s now utterly wild hair. “You’re a natural, kiddo.”

While he caught his breath, Harry glanced over at the house, catching the faint twitching movement of one of the curtains settling back into place. He wondered if Andromeda had watched them practising before, though he’d been certain he’d checked to make sure she wasn’t around before they started. Mothers and those eyes in the back of their heads, he thought of the old maxim. Did she think of Tonks and Ted Senior when she watched them?

“Harry?” Teddy suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

When Harry glanced down, the boy was watching the clouds with a serious, thoughtful expression. “Yeah, Ted?”

“Did my dad like flying?” The question wasn’t surprising. Teddy knew the reason Harry was his godfather was because their fathers had been more like brothers than friends. He often asked Harry questions about Remus, in much the same way Harry had once asked Remus questions about James.

“I don’t know.” Harry said, honestly because though it made him sad to admit it, he didn’t know an awful lot about Remus or Sirius or his dad or mum or any of them, really. “I think he liked Quidditch though.” He added after a moment.

“How come?” Harry looked over at his godson whose hair had drifted to a sandy brown, his nose lengthening, his eyes shifting to a kind of golden hazel. A dead ringer for a miniature Remus Lupin, though far younger, less gaunt, less scarred. Teddy must have been looking at old photos recently.

“He came to my matches.” He explained with a wistful smile. “Before we got to know each other, I used to see him in the faculty box at Hogwarts. I think I even saw him watching us train a few times.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t unusual for teachers to watch training.” He explained, ruefully. “McGonagall used to come down a lot to make sure we were gonna give Slytherin a run for their money.”

Teddy giggled. “Do you think…he’d have come to watch me?” he finally asked, quietly. While he often reminded Harry of Tonks with his constant transformations and the stubborn tilt to his brows, in moments like this when he was distracted or thoughtful, there was so much of Remus that spilled out of him.

“I don’t know if he liked flying Ted, but I think he would have loved how much you love it.” Harry said, truthfully. “And I think he would’ve watched every single time you got in the air, cheering you on.”

“I think I would’ve really liked that.” Teddy said, simply. There wasn’t really sadness in his voice. As Harry well knew himself, it was hard to be sad about people you had never met, about losing something you’d never had.

“I know your mum was a really great flier.” Harry added, though this was not news to Teddy. “Maybe that’s where you get it from?”

Teddy smiled at that. His hair flickered to a bubblegum pink, wild and curly. “Yeah, maybe.”

“And you know,” Harry continued, casually. “When you make Seeker in Second Year, I’ll be there every match to cheer you on myself.”

“Second Year?” Teddy squawked, surging upwards with outrage. “But you were Seeker in First Year!”

Harry hummed, mock-thoughtful. “I was indeed.”

“Then I’ll make it by First Year too!” Teddy announced, determined. He launched to his feet and tugged on Harry’s arm, one hand reaching for his broom. “C’m _on_ Harry, I have to practise!” he whined.

Harry laughed, stretching out on the spongy, comfy grass with a long sigh. “I don’t know, Ted,” he remarked. “This grass is pretty soft, I might just have a nap right here and now.”

“No!” Teddy wailed though his voice was riddled with giggles. “Harry, I know you’re not sleeping!”

“Oh how tired I am.”

“You’re not tired!”

“Weak with exhaustion, that’s me.”

“You’re not exhausted either!”

“Nighty night, Ted.”

“No, Harry, wake up!”

Harry closed his eyes and let out a snore.

“ _Harry!_ ” Teddy complained, continuing to tug on Harry’s arm until he swooped out with his other arm, grabbing the boy and hugging him tight to his chest. “ _Harry no!”_ he shrieked with laughter as Harry tucked him under his chin like a teddy bear but he didn’t try to wrestle free. Instead he snuggled into his godfather’s grasp, still laughing to himself.

Harry smiled, resting his chin on top of the boy’s head, which was once again covered in thick black hair. “You know your parents would be really proud of you, right Ted?” he said after the giggles had subsided.

With a faint smile still on his face, Teddy nodded. “I know.”

“And you know we can talk about them whenever you want?” he checked, as he always did when Teddy brought them up.

Again, the boy nodded, even with a little eye roll. “I know.”

“You want to keep flying?” Harry asked, letting his godson roll free. He stood up, tugging Teddy to his feet and collecting the broomstick.

Teddy bit his lip. “Actually, could we maybe look at the photo album together for a while?” he added hopefully. “Just until you have to go?”

“I think that’d be a great idea, Ted.”

“And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I think they’re proud of both of us.” He stated, simply before he wandered away to put his broom back in its box while Harry watched on with a small, surprised smile. There it was again; so much of Remus, all spilling out of him.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teddy Lupin is a Favourite™ of mine, in case it wasn't obvious. Next chapter features Hermione, stay tuned!
> 
> HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE. I HOPE YOU'RE ALL SAFE AND WELL.  
> PERSONALLY I'M DROWNING MY SORROWS IN ESPRESSO MARTINIS SERVED IN AN EASTER EGG.


	5. YOU’LL CRUMPLE THE CLAUSES!

FIVE.

YOU’LL CRUMPLE THE CLAUSES!

“I don’t believe it.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed as beside her, Harry glared down at the yellow pages. “I couldn’t either. But there it is.” She was curled up with her legs tucked under her on the sofa, drowning in one of Ron’s old maroon jumpers with the enormous golden letter R on the front. A fine selection of takeaway from the Muggle Thai shop down the street was spread across their coffee table, mouth-watering aromas drifting from the neat white boxes.

Ron peered over their shoulders with a single raised brow. “Looks like a Floo book to me.” He said, dubiously.

“It is, sort of.” Hermione explained, sitting up straighter. “But for Muggle residences.”

“Huh,” he said, absently, pointing a finger at the page with hand he wasn’t holding his takeaway carton. “There you are. H. Potter. Weird. There’s dozens of you.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “How many do you think your aunt tried before she found you?”

Ron shuddered. “Can you imagine waking up and finding her on your doorstep for no good reason?”

Harry wasn’t really listening. He flopped back against the couch, exasperated. “I can’t bloody believe I’m in the bloody phone book.”

“Well it’s an easy enough fix.” Hermione said brightly. “There should be a way to have them remove you-”

“Why bother?” Ron shrugged, heading to their galley kitchen to reheat his noodles. He’d become rather a fan of the microwave oven since he’d moved in with Hermione. He watched it spin with intrigue, even as he spoke. “Who’s going to think to check for you in there?”

“Petunia Dursley clearly did.” Harry replied mutinously.

“Who other than your crazy relatives?” Ron corrected, pointedly.

“Ron has a point, Harry.” Hermione acknowledged. “Wizards aren’t likely to go around checking Muggle phone books for the Boy Who Lived’s home address. Ooh, Ron, could you bring me some too?” she added, hopefully as the smell wafted from the kitchen.

“You don’t even like peanuts.” Ron complained but it was half hearted at best.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m allowed to change my mind, Ron, don’t be such a hog.” She said, playfully.

Meanwhile, Harry pushed the phone book aside and turned to his stir friend squid with chilli jam instead, stabbing into it with his fork. “Imagine the scoop if Skeeter ever found it.” He remarked sarcastically but it lacked any kind of real concern. His friends were right: the chances of Rita Skeeter being creative enough to think to check the Muggle phone book was about as remote as the chances of her even knowing it existed.

“Ron told me she showed up at the shop.” Hermione said, darkly. “I wish I’d been there to give her a piece of my mind. Did you see her latest bit of trash?”

“Funnily enough, I’ve cancelled my Prophet subscription recently.” Harry replied, dryly.

Her brow furrowed with apology. “Oh, I didn’t mean- it’s all nonsense Harry, you’re right not to bother with it.”

Ron rolled his eyes as he returned, handing Hermione about half of the satay tofu as he passed. He took a spot in the armchair opposite, stretching his long legs out under the coffee table. “It’s getting embarrassing,” he informed his friend. “They haven’t had a decent photo of you in weeks. I’d all but forgotten what you looked like.”

“You saw me a few days ago.” Harry pointed out.

“I know, it’s been an age.”

“So…” Hermione said, delicately.

Harry tilted his head back, glaring at the ceiling. “I haven’t heard anything. Kingsley told me there’s nothing new. I don’t know what’s going on.” He recited, dully. “At this point, I thought you’d know more than I would.”

Hermione winced. “Ordinarily, I’d tell you but they’re keeping their lips buttoned on this one, I’m afraid. It’s the only time I’ve ever known Sampson to keep his mouth shut, to be honest.”

“Ah yes, how is your informant?” Ron asked, in between shovelling food. To his mother’s dismay, his table manners had not improved with the advent of adulthood.

“Sampson’s not my informant, he’s just a co-worker and a friend.” Hermione defended. “And he’s an excellent stenographer, that’s why he handles all the important court cases.”

Ron and Harry outright snorted. “Deodas Sampson is the biggest gossip at the Ministry.” Ron corrected, eyebrows raised.

“If he’s not saying anything, it’s because there’s nothing to say.” Harry added. “Which is good news, I guess.”

“It’ll all work out, Harry.” Hermione insisted. “Everyone who knows you knows better than to believe whatever rubbish the Prophet is printing.”

“Just do what I do and read the Quibbler.” Ron suggested with a shrug. “It’s always good for a laugh.”

Hermione groaned. “That reminds me I have to write Luna on Monday. That advice she gave on removing catterpebbles just isn’t medically sound…”

“Or watch Hermione read the Quibbler. That’s a laugh too.” Ron quipped.

She swatted his legs as she collected more of the pineapple fried rice to add to her filched satay. Ron actively grimaced at the clash but she ignored him.

“Laugh all you like,” she threatened but her eyes were bright. “Next time you end up with growths the size of pebbles dangling from your ears, I’ll just let the Narblers chew on them like the Quibbler suggests, shall I?”

Harry squinted at his friend, thoughtfully. “I don’t know Hermione…” he said slowly, adjusting his glasses. “As far as looks go it couldn’t hurt to try them out.”

“What’s wrong with my look?” Ron grumbled, indignantly. “At least I don’t look like I haven’t had a haircut in a year.”

“Everyone’s a critic, for Merlin’s sake.” Harry sniffed.

“It’s very…urban?” Hermione tried, eyeing Harry’s tangle of hair.

“It’s camouflage.” Harry corrected, running a hand through it absently until it covered his scar. “Fewer people stare this way.”

Ron raised his takeaway in salute. “Donahue would be proud.”

Harry hadn’t thought of their old Stealth & Disguise trainer from the Academy for years. They hadn’t spent much time in the Auror Academy but there had been more than a few memorable faces including the five foot nothing wizard who had been none too pleased at the idea of trying to teach the mastery of disguise to two of the most famous faces in the Wizarding World.

Ron grunted suddenly, wriggling in his seat. “What in Helga’s na- oh!” he dug around in the crevice between the cushion and the chair back, retrieving whatever was disturbing him. “Hey ‘Mione, I found the one you were looking for!” He held up the parchment scroll which had obviously been lost down the back of the chair.

Immediately, Hermione’s eyes widened in panic. “Ron wait-!”

But before she could say anything, he had flipped the scroll upside down, setting off whatever precarious magic that kept it bound. It exploded outwards, unravelling with the energy of a coiled spring in a long, unending river of parchment. The seemingly limitless paper coiled and tangled into a mess at least as tall as Harry. Within moments, it had completely enveloped Ron and his armchair, spreading across the rug, over the coffee table, engulfing their supper and headed for the sofa at a worrisome speed.

With a yelp, Harry flattened himself against the couch while Hermione grabbed her wand, attempting to aim for the wooden handle in Ron’s hand, quickly disappearing under the mess. “ _Volumenato!_ ”

It took a few tries, but the scroll finally quivered for a moment and then stopped unravelling, leaving the three of them staring at each other in shock. Ron, or at least what little of him was visible, scowled. “Why do you keep bringing these home?” he complained, struggling to free himself from what looked like thousands of yards of parchment scroll.

“Stop wriggling, you’ll rip it!” Hermione demanded, frantically trying to keep the paper out of the Pad Thai dipping sauce. “Right, I need the handle to wind it back up.”

“Just Summon it then!”

“It could tear the paper!”

Harry warily extricated himself from the sofa, gingerly picking up the nearest section to him. It was covered in notes, written in a familiar, cramped hand in fine black ink. “Hermione, what is this exactly?” he asked, bewildered as Ron rolled his eyes.

“Hermione takes bringing her work home with her literally.” He commented, dryly.

Hermione frowned, indignantly. “It only happens because you keep twisting them with casting a finding spell first.”

“Right and how exactly am I meant to tell the difference between every one of the million scrolls you bring home?”

“Well Perpetual Parchment is heavier, obviously!”

“Obviously!” Ron echoed, looking deeply unimpressed with his current predicament.

Harry smiled slightly at the familiar bickering. “What are they actually for though?” he tilted his head to read the section he held, which seemed to be discussing something about licensing.

Hermione manoeuvred through the tangled web of parchment carefully trying not to crush any of the yellowed paper coils. “My team is addressing the lycanthropic sub council of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in two days’ time. We’re delivering a reform to the current Werewolf Restrictions Act-” she explained as she moved. Ron wiggles his arms experimentally. “Ron stop, you’ll crumple the clauses!”

“Merlin forbid I crumple the clauses.” Ron muttered, rebelliously.

Harry marvelled at the sheer volume of the mess. “All this is for one meeting?”

Hermione shrugged, reaching through the web to try to grasp the wooden scroll handle, still kept aloft by Ron. “Not quite. It’s a coup, of sorts.”

“A coup?” Harry echoed, bewildered. “You’re taking over the Ministry?”

“Ha! They should be so lucky!” Ron called out, trying not to shift. “Hermione, that’s not the handle, that’s my leg.”

“Not the Ministry,” Hermione corrected Harry. “Just the sub council. As part of their regulatory charter, when they ratify the Act, they’ll have to disband and reform- Oh, hang on, I think I’ve got-”

“ _No, that’s not it either-!”_ Ron yelped.

“And that helps you how?” Harry enquired, absently as he unearthed the spring rolls from the submerged coffee table. No point in them going to waste, he supposed.

Hermione looked pleased with herself as she replied: “Part of the new Act demands equal werewolf representation on the council. They’ll have to elect new members immediately.”

Harry let out an impressed whistle. “Nicely planned.”

“It shouldn’t even be necessary,” Hermione said, scathingly. “It’s absolutely criminal that a council which makes decisions about an entire community doesn’t have so much as one community representative _,_ let alone a group as vulnerable as werewolves- _oof!”_

In a flash, Hermione vanished beneath the parchment tangle, only the tips of her wildly curly black hair still visible.

“’Mione are you alright?” Harry called out, mildly concerned.

“We’re fine!” she squeaked back. Harry could hear Ron snickering.

“Oh good, you found him, I was worried we’d have to Accio him out.” He remarked, squinting through the mess to see if he could find that dipping sauce.

There was a pause, the couple’s conversation muffled by the mess they found themselves in Then, from deep within the piles, he heard Hermione let out a laugh and suddenly her voice: _“Volumentilis!”_

The parchment began to wind back as quickly as it had unwound, until all that was left was a mildly ruffled dinner spread, a single inconspicuous looking scroll wrapped about a wooden handle and the pair of them in the armchair. Hermione was practically in Ron’s lap, his arm looped familiarly around her waist as she reached for the end of the scroll he was still keeping aloft. Warm faced, smiling at each other, they didn’t even seem to remember Harry was even in the room.

He took only a small amount of childish glee in reminding them, with a pointed cough.

Hermione blinked, scrambling to get out of the position while Ron’s ears turned furiously red. He coughed, handing her the scroll handle carefully before he turned a mild glare on Harry.

“Shut up.” Ron groused.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t worry Harry, Ron’s just sensitive because George has been giving him a hard time since he caught us snogging in the office at the shop.” Hermione replied, unbothered as she transferred the scroll to her work bag, clipping it shut neatly.

The crimson of Ron’s ears intensified and spread, filling his freckled cheeks while Harry hooted with laughter. “Yeah, go ahead, have a laugh,” he muttered but there was no venom in his tone and only something soft in his eyes when he looked at his girlfriend. “George certainly did.”

“As if he hasn’t walked in on snogging before.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Her smile looked close to a smirk. “Besides, when he and Angelina finally stop their dancing around, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make fun of your brother.”

Still snickering, Harry mercifully let the matter drop. “So, you’re preparing a coup for werewolf rights and Ron’s got a special order for a Fracturing Fork from the Minister of Magic-”

Ron tapped his chin, thoughtfully. “Huh, that’s not a bad name. Better than the Earsplitter, that’s for sure.”

“Well what about you?” Hermione asked, hopefully. “Anything you’re working on? What about your cousin?”

Harry shuffled, uncomfortably. He thought about bringing up his cousin and his aunt and the whole saga with Clementine with Hermione; it would have been helpful to have her perspective on how regular Muggleborns were introduced to the Wizarding World. But he’d been doing well not dwell over it and he didn’t want to spoil the mood.

“Oh, I’m far too busy starring in every trashy publication this side of the Channel.” He instead replied, lightly.

“There is a world outside the Auror Department, you know.” Ron pointed out, sarcastically. “I hear they even let you visit there sometimes.”

“Senior Auror takes vacation in the midst of assault investigation and suspension, is Potter out for good?” he replied, sarcastically. “Maybe I should get a job at the Prophet writing their headlines for them.”

“But you’re not out for good, it’s just a suspension.” Hermione said firmly. Sensing Harry’s hesitation, she frowned, concerned. “Isn’t it?”

Harry pushed his spring rolls around, idly. “I mean, I haven’t heard anything.” He said, not meeting his friend’s gaze. “As far as I know, nothing’s been decided.”

“That’s what Ron said.” Hermione said with a decisive nod. For his part, Ron looked less certain.

Harry kept pushing his food about as he continued. “But I guess I’ve just been thinking whether it’d be so bad if it was. Permanent, I mean.” He finally blurted out.

The silence was thick with shock between the three of them. “But,” Hermione finally said, bewildered. “Your career- I mean, you’ve put in so much work! I thought being an Auror was what you wanted!”

“I thought so too. I mean I think it still is, but I-” Harry finally set his meal down on the coffee table, looking up at his best friends instead. They both looked stunned. “I guess I’ve just been wondering if fighting’s all I’m good for.”

Ron scowled immediately. “That’s _bollocks,_ Harry.”

“You’ve been giving this some thought then.” Hermione’s expression fell from astonishment to careful composure. “Since before the suspension?”

“For a while.” Harry shrugged, not looking at Ron. “I guess this whole thing with the trial just brought it all back up, that’s all.”

“Brought what up?” Ron asked.

Harry paused, trying to pick his words carefully. “I just wonder if I’m actually doing any good.” It felt equally relieving and sickening to say the words out loud, like the two sensations were duelling it out in his gut.

“Any _good_ -? Harry, you’ve spent years catching criminals who hurt other people, _innocent_ people!” Hermione exclaimed. “How can you not think that matters?”

“I know it matters, I just-” Harry waved his hand in an undefinable gesture, frustrated with himself for not being able to explain himself better. “Tiltenhaus killed two people and he might get away with it because of me.” He finally said, the guilt in his voice heavy.

“If Tiltenhaus _does_ walk, it would be because of that member who accused you of attacking him!” Hermione exclaimed, righteously.

“Listen, it’s just one case mate,” Ron added. He looked painfully earnest. “You can’t question everything you’ve worked for because one prick in a fancy robe started spouting accusations.”

“Exactly!” Hermione cried, outraged. “You can’t give him the satisfaction! ”

_That’s not the point,_ he wanted to say but he wasn’t precisely sure what _was_ the point. So instead Harry threw them both a weak smile. “Yeah, well. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”

“Well you don’t have to worry,” Hermione said, decisively. “Everything will work out, I know it.”

“Maybe when she’s finished whipping the Department of Magical Creatures into shape, she’ll come for the Auror Department.” Ron teased, though he eyed Harry with a somewhat pensive look.

Harry ignored it. “You know, I think I’d pay to see that fight.” He mused, mildly.

“It’s not a fight,” Hermione countered, primly as she picked up her pineapple rice/satay tofu mix and settled back on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her. Still clad in the enormous red sweater, one might have been forgiven in mistaking her as nonthreatening. “It’s a coup.”

One would, of course, be wrong.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this has made me think a lot about: 
> 
> a) Hermione's ability to navigate politics in the Ministry. I've come to the conclusion she has become both savvy, forthright and swift to act. It has proved problematic in the past but once she has a plan, Hermione will see it through no matter what.
> 
> b) the internal structure of the Auror Department. this will become relevant later on. I think.
> 
> c) What domestic Hermione/Ron look like. Spoiler alert, it's really fucking cute okay.
> 
> Also. How do you guys feel about the trial plotline? It's become slightly more relevant as this fic unspools, which I hadn't expected tbh.
> 
> Hope you're all safe and well! There's been talk in my neck of the woods that some restrictions on gatherings might be easing to under 10 people and I'm a little bit too excited <3 <3


	6. JUST A LITTLE OFF THE SIDES I'LL BE QUICK

SIX.

JUST A LITTLE OFF THE SIDES, I’LL BE QUICK

“I’m coming home.”

Harry sighed. “We both agreed this was important for you.”

Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently, though it was hard to take a fiery head floating on a stove top seriously. “We made that agreement before you were front page news.”

“I’m always front page news.” Harry pointed out.

His girlfriend was unappeased. “I’m coming home.” She repeated, tersely. “The camp is over in a fortnight anyhow-”

“You have four weeks left, Gin.” He corrected, pointedly.

She tossed her head, long red hair swinging in the flames. “Details.” she dismissed. “This is more important.”

“What is? Watching me crawl the apartment walls? Burn copies of the Prophet? Curse at nosy reporters?” Harry threw back.

“It’d be easier than watching through the bloody stove top.” She grumbled. “We didn’t know how big this would get when I left.”

He sat back against the kitchen’s breakfast counter, watching Ginny’s floating head peer back at him with concern. Even with their extension charms, the apartment was too small for a fireplace of their own. There was a communal one downstairs in the front foyer of the building for the Floo but for chatting, Harry and Ginny had always found a pinch of green powder on the gas stovetop did the trick just fine, though it was far less reliable than Floo in the fireplace. Even now, the image of her flickered perilously.

“I kind of made it big.” he admitted, sheepishly. “Not on purpose but- I mean, it’s my fault I couldn’t keep my wand to myself.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “It sounds like the prick needed a good hexing anyway.”

“I didn’t _hex_ him.” Harry exclaimed, indignantly but Ginny had already moved on.

“Are you sure about this, Harry?” she said, frowning at him. “I can come home early, it’s not a big deal.”

“You said yourself, the camp is important if you want a shot at captain come start of season.” Harry replied, firmly though a part of him thought he could really use Ginny’s unique combination of empathy, humour and tough love to put his woes into perspective. He could almost hear her: _Cheer up Potter, it’s not as though you died. Again._ “I’m fine here, I promise.” He said instead.

“More important to some than others.” Ginny muttered, darkly. “Dorothea needs to be taken down a peg or two. How she can even get off the ground with that ego of hers is a mystery.”

“Glad you’re having fun then.” Harry said, wryly.

“Oh, tonnes.” Ginny replied, flatly but there was a hint of a smile. “Anyway. How’ve you gone with that other thing, with your cousin?”

Harry groaned, tilting his head back. “Don’t remind me. Why’d I say I’d ask about magical kids? I don’t even know any magical kids except for Teddy!”

Ginny snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

He frowned, confused by her tone. “What d’you mean?”

She peered back with a look of disbelief. “Harry. If you need advice on magical children, you already know an expert.”

Sensing a trap but not quite sure where it lay, Harry hesitated. “…McGonagall?”

Her disbelief transformed into outright derision. “Harry,” Ginny said slowly. “My mum’s had seven magical children and she’s constantly begging you to go round for tea. She would write you up an invitation if she thought it’d help.”

He closed his eyes, wearily. “I’m so glad,” Harry said with great emphasis. “That you’re the smart one in this relationship.”

“Someone clearly has to be.” Ginny laughed but the image flickered again and then again, more forcefully. “Bugger, the connection’s breaking up.”

Harry nodded, smothering his disappointment. “You’d better go knock Dorothea off her broom.”

“My curse in life.” Ginny agreed. They paused, just watching each other for a long moment. “I miss you.” she admitted, quietly. “Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m aw-”

The stovetop went out. The flame vanished, replaced by a thin curl of wispy grey smoke.

“I’ll try.” Harry sighed to no one.

* * * * *  
* * * *

Molly Weasley’s kitchen possessed the unusual ability to remain exactly the same regardless of whatever was happening outside it. The pots still scrubbed themselves. The stack of magical cookbooks on the mantelpiece always looked near to toppling but never had or would. A scruffy brown owl was perched on the window sill, picking at some stale bread which had been left out.

(Harry couldn’t be sure it was Errol because he’d been sure Errol was grey and it _had_ been a few years but at the risk of insensitively bringing up a dead pet, Harry usually took his cue from Ron and Ginny who referred to the poor creature as _featherbrain_.)

As Harry had exited the Burrow’s fireplace, these warm details of the ageless Burrow kitchen enveloped him as they usually did. At the centre of the mismatched furniture and clashing patterns, Molly Weasley held court as always, her wild red curls streaked with white as she tended to her home and its occupants. Currently, that meant the part-Veela hellions tearing through the upper storeys.

“Girls! _Girls, no running in the house!_ ” she shouted as the patter of little feet raced through the loungeroom and up the stairs. She turned back to Harry with a weary expression. “You’d think the house was on fire the way they rush about while Bill’s out.”

Harry peered upwards thoughtfully. “No noise now though.” He pointed out.

Molly threw him a somewhat indulgent glance. “A sign trouble’s on its way, no doubt.”

“I’m sorry, you’re busy,” Harry apologised as she bustled about him. “I should’ve owled you first-”

Molly waved a hand immediately. “Don’t be silly, dear, Arthur and Bill are at the Ministry and it’s only the two girls besides.”

“Are you sure you’re not-?”

“I used to juggle seven at a time, dear, don’t worry, they’ll tire themselves out soon.” She flapped a hand once more.

Harry leaned against the kitchen counter while Molly finished her laundry charms. “So does that mean Bill’s taken that contract then? With the Minstry, I mean?”

Molly shook her head, as though tired of the subject. “Oh no, he’s got to renew his cursebreaking license but they won’t allow him to file the paperwork in France, it’s all such a bother frankly and not a mite rude of them, you see, to offer him a job with one hand and make him jump through hoops with the other!” she continued, hotly. Through the window, Harry noted the basket of wet washing began to peg itself up on the line outside, one sleeve at a time. “It’s a pity Fleur couldn’t come with them this time.” she added wistfully. “It’s been so nice to have the place full of people again.”

Harry could not conceal a wince. “I’m really sorry I haven’t visited lately, Mrs Weasley.”

“Oh never mind that, dear, you’ve had your reasons.” Though it was expressed with complete authenticity, guilt still curdled in his stomach. Molly Weasley’s capacity for shaming her children remained as sharp as ever over the years. “Now have a sit, biscuits will be ready soon, sit, sit, my goodness, look at your hair! Harry dear, it always looks so neat when you have it cut, won’t you let me have a go, just a little off the sides, I’ll be quick-”

Harry took his regular seat at the long Weasley family table, enjoying the quiet warmth which filled him whenever he mused over the fact that he had his own spot: a beaten up, formerly-plum-purple-now-sort-of-lavender-coloured arm chair which had been discovered in the attic several years ago.

Molly took the head of the table, as per usual. “It’s just awful what they’re putting you through, dear.” she jumped straight in, unflinchingly. _Blunt as ever,_ Harry mused.

There was a teapot whistling over on the stovetop but Molly flicked her wand at it without even so much as a glance. “I’ve been writing to the Ministry every day, you know. I’ve half a mind to turn up in person, I’d have words with that Shacklebolt-”

“It’s alright Mrs Weasley,” Harry interrupted hastily at the mention of Kingsley. He wasn’t quite sure if a fired up Weasley was a fate he’d wish on anyone, let alone a man he considered a friend. “Kingsley’s been helping, actually. His hands are tied as much as mine. He’s doing as much as he can.”

Molly harrumphed, unappeased. “He ought to be doing more, he’s the _Minister_ for Merlin’s sake! And don’t get me started on that wretched man, the one who’s been giving interviews left and right-”

“Talbins.” Harry named, flatly.

“-saying you _attacked_ him! Well I for one don’t believe it!” She continued, cheeks flushed with the precisely the same shade of pink as Ron’s ears when he was angry.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s been about a bit, hasn’t he?” he said, darkly, though saying so was a little like saying Voldemort had been a bit of a nuisance. The only wizard in Britain with more time on the front pages than Harry was the man who accused him: Toliver Talbins, Wizengamot Member, judicially appointed defence interrogator and all-around prick.

“The _Prophet_ ’s been bad ink for years!” Molly continued, irritably though she took a moment to flick her wand at the stove top. The kettle gently levitated, bobbing along with two slightly chipped mugs toward the table. “But really, imagine giving that sort of talk the time of day-”

Harry hid his wince as she spoke. He told himself he wasn’t really, _technically_ meant to be discussing the trial with anyone, though it seemed poor form for him to allow Mrs Weasley to continue to rage indignant on his behalf when he had indeed committed the crime she’d deemed him innocent of. Besides, a small part of him felt pleased about the way Mrs Weasley always thought the best of him.

Instead, Harry put the issue aside and forced himself to focus instead on the problem at hand. “Actually Mrs Weasley, I came to ask about something else.”

With another flick of her wand, the tea kettle began to pour. The older witch didn’t even seem to notice herself doing it, merely looking politely curious at Harry. “Yes, dear? What is it?”

Harry shuffled in his seat. “Right,” he began, awkwardly. “Well, it’s not for what it sounds but- well, I guess I wanted to ask about kids. You know, magical ones, I mean.”

Molly’s jaw literally dropped. The teakettle dropped out of the air, clanging to the ground with a crash, followed swiftly by the remainder of the wet washing and the scrubbers in the sink attacking the greasy plates. Even the mouthlike door to the oven fell open in shock. The quiet left behind by the cessation of magic sounded deafening to Harry.

“Children?” she squeaked, eyes lit with some sordid mix of astonishment and glee.

“Not for me!” he blurted out, hastily. “Me and Ginny- we’re not- I mean- not right now- we haven’t- um. Not for us.”

Harry caught her shoulders drooping just a little, though the Weasley matriarch tried to hide it. She fanned herself instead. “Of course, dear. Of course.”

The teakettle looked like it was outright pouting. The scrubbers went back to their washing in a sulk.

“It’s just…well…do you remember my cousin?” Harry said, carefully.

The wistfulness vanished, replaced with narrowed, disdainful eyes. “You mean that oaf of a boy and his useless, good for nothing parents.” she said, flatly. “What have they done now?”

“My cousin has a daughter. She’s showing signs of magic.” Harry finally said, as bluntly as possible. There was really no other way to put it, even though it did not sound any more plausible with repetition.

Molly’s eyebrows raised, though she remained politely disdainful at the mention of Dursleys. “What sort of signs?”

Harry explained his Aunt’s ramblings about babies on the ceiling and Dudley mentioning the singing curtains and finally, the fireworks he’d witnessed just last week. “She just seems kind of young, you know? I mean, she’s only two.”

Mrs Weasley hummed, knowingly. “Oh, it strikes at any age, dear. Percy made the bathwater turn to a sandpit when he was four because he didn’t want to wash. It took us two days to work out how to change it back.”

(Harry tucked this little nugget aside, having learned from Ron and Ginny that gathering embarrassing information about one’s siblings, or as good as in Harry’s case, was never a poor idea.)

“Is that normal?” Harry wondered, part of him genuinely curious. When he thought about all the odd happenings that surrounded his childhood - haircuts which grew back overnight and finding himself on rooftops unexpectedly - he seemed to recall he’d been about school age. He’d certainly made enough teachers cross with him for making everyone’s homework disappear off their desks or turning all the chalk into cheese. “Andromeda says the younger, the more powerful.”

He was surprised when Molly outright snorted. “Oh, what pureblood rubbish,” she dismissed. “By that logic, Ginny should be a Squib! She didn’t show any signs until she was nearly eleven.”

“Really?”

“George was teasing her that she wouldn’t get to go to Hogwarts. She set his eyebrows on fire. We were very proud.” Molly recalled, fondly.

“Yeah that seems about right.” He muttered, subconsciously patting down his own brows. He sat back in his seat, more confused than ever. “But then…there’s no reason or pattern to it? At all?”

“None whatsoever.” Molly announced merrily. “Though certainly once they start, it’s difficult to stop. Accidental magic is accidental for a reason, there’s not an awful lot of control involved. Helga help us, Arthur and I went through two rooves, four ovens and about a dozen garden beds between the seven of them.”

Just for fun, Harry imagined pudgy, blonde baby Clementine exploding the roof of off the house at Number 7 Keller Circle.

The image was so alarming that it did not merit imagining a second time.

Molly was still speaking. “I must have sent Arthur out for Nullifying Knick Knacks so often I’m sure the woman at the apothecary thought we were mad. Or stupid.”

“Nullifying knick-knacks? What’re those?” His ears perked.

Molly shrugged. “Just what they sound like, usually they’re hung over a crib and absorb most of the really wild magic so you’ll keep your house in one piece.” Then she chuckled. “They don’t last forever of course, but they do in a pinch until the little one settles down. Which she will, dear, mind you.” Molly added, reassuringly. “Eventually.”

Harry felt a sweep of relief run through him. “Can Muggles use them? If I got one for Dudley?”

Molly raised a single brow, archly. “I don’t see why not, though I’d be surprised if he’d lower himself to using them.” She sniffed. “I thought that lot considered themselves rather above magic?”

“It’s not for them,” Harry said, haltingly. “It’s just- she’s just a baby, Mrs Weasley. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

She looked unbearably fond for a moment. “Quite right, dear. Well, let’s go check shall we?”

The entry to the attic was concealed in a small hatch in the ceiling just outside of Ron’s bedroom. Harry caught a glimpse of its vividly orange décor from the hallway as they unfolded the creaky wooden ladder, Mrs Weasley leading the way. The attic was pokey in the way much of the Burrow was, full of boxes and objects and trunks which were stacked in a labyrinthian manner, forcing the pair to manoeuvre amongst the piles with caution.

“Somewhere over…” Molly hummed as she looked, brow furrowed. “Oh for heaven’s sake, I thought I told Arthur to throw those away…” she grumbled.

Harry peered through the piles, though he had no idea what he was looking for. He wandered away from Mrs Weasley, inspecting the clutter which seemed to be vaguely organised by Weasley spawn. There was a rather tall stack on his left piled high upon a truly battered trunk initialled with a W.A.W which he suspected belonged to Bill, and an old shoebox full of Chocolate Frog cards which must have been Ron’s. There were a few old scribbly drawings whose figured hopped about the page unevenly when he poked them, and a box or two of old comic books and kids’ toys and photo albums. The whole space was dim and cramped and borderline claustrophobic but Harry found himself strangely endeared by the sight. This was how a wizard family kept memories, he mused. All hoarded away like a dragon keeping gold.

In the far corner of the attic, high above the rest of the melee, sat a few precariously stacked cardboard boxes which seemed rather dusty. Harry hopefully pried open a lid off the top and instantly regretted it: it was full to the brim of old saggy knit jumpers, each bestowed with a glittering golden F. He wondered if Molly or Arthur had tucked them back here for safe keeping, though the location seemed hard to access for either of them, what with Molly’s poor eyesight and Arthur’s bad knees. George, then, Harry thought, his stomach twisting as he carefully put the lid back on.

“Oh, I think I have them!” Molly called, a welcome interruption. He followed the sound of her voice, until he found her kneeling beside a very old, rather small wooden chest. It was carved with an old-fashioned crest depicting the letter W with a finely hewn weasel creeping across it.

“My brothers gave me this when I was pregnant with Bill. It’s charmed to keep little fingers out, you see. Very handy for an expectant mother.” the older witch hummed, nostalgically. She cracked open the lock, revealing a tangled nest of what looked like old children’s toys, strung on chains.

The box gave off a strange sort of feeling amongst the rest of the familial detritus; unlike the rest of the attic which held the Burrow’s typical warmth and crackle of magic, the toys were utterly still, lifeless, bland. They looked about as un-magical as toys could be.

Harry inspected the knick-knacks further. No two were alike, each one made of chipped glass or scratch plastic or metal or some sort of worn out furry plush. He wondered who belonged to who: There was the little thatched broomstick and the small glass owl with the luminescent yellow eyes, followed by a pair of duelling unicorns with their glittering horns interlocked, the frayed Niffler plush with beady eyes, and a golden star which glowed from within.

Molly smiled, her eyes a little watery as she brushed her fingers over the small bearded wizard with his chipped spell book. “One for each of them.” she murmured, lost in memory for a moment before she blinked, drawing herself out.

“Here now, this one was Charlie’s-” she lifted out a small, painted dragon with gold-green papery wings. _Of course,_ Harry thought, amused. “-His was the strongest I should think.” Molly continued, thoughtfully. “We bought it right after he made his bedroom disappear.”

Harry blinked. “Disappear? As in-?” He made a vague gesture, blowing his cheeks out with a soft explosion noise.

Molly looked up at him wearily. “He didn’t want to go to bed.” She said by way of explanation.

Harry gingerly took the dragon charm, strung on a thin metal chain. “And this’ll help with the accidental magic stuff?”

“They worked for us,” Molly tilted her head. “Admittedly, not all the boys needed them but Arthur and I decided to err on the side of caution after Percy.”

“Sounds sensible.” Harry muttered, internally wondering how the Weasleys still managed to have a house after seven tiny magical babies. It made Clementine’s little stunts seem downright harmless. He considered the Nullifying Knick-knack, wondering what Dudley would think of it. Knowingly accepting a magical object? Keeping in his house? It sounded all a little too much for the cousin he knew.

Harry supposed he could always present it as a gift somehow; it would have been a rather innocent gift from anyone else but coming from him, Dudley would be rather suspicious. The only fair way was honesty, Harry resolved. He would present it to his cousin, explain it use and then leave it to Dudley to decide what to do with it. He’d done his due, supplied the information that had been requested and even found a bit of a solution. Whatever happened next was on Dudley.

He did quietly make a note to make sure nothing happened to the dragon if Dudley did reject it. Harry could see all of the Knick-knacks were dearly loved. It wouldn’t be right to let his cousin ruin a Weasley childhood treasure.

He was broken from his train of thought as Molly tried to rise to her feet, wincing about halfway. Harry immediately gently gripped her elbow, steadying her. “Thank you dear, would you mind-?” Harry obliged wordlessly, helping her to the attic entrance.

“These old bones aren’t what they used to be.” Molly sighed, apologetic.

“I could carry you if you’d prefer?” he suggested, teasingly, as he assisted her back down the ladder, down the stairs to the kitchen.

The witch harrumphed, thwapping his arm though her eyes glowed with amusement. “Oh, I’m not quite so frail yet, I’ll have you know, Harry Potter.” She scolded as she settled back into her seat at the head of the table, her cup of tea magically kept piping hot.

Harry grinned. “Perish the thought.”

Molly seemed fit to chide him some more but her wand suddenly flicked in her grasp, so quickly as though she had not so moved it on purpose but out of reflex. The door to the oven snapped shut, though Harry had not even see it open. A series of whines followed and two small blonde heads poked up from behind the kitchen island with woefully large eyes.

“I told you both, no biscuits until after dinner.” Molly warned.

“But Uncle Harry gets biscuits!” Dominique complained, her voice high and reedy with a rather thick French accent. She settled her chin on the wooden island with a petulant _thunk._ The effect was not quite as morose as she might have thought; the younger Weasley sister’s deep golden skin and exceptionally white blonde hair, inherited from her mother, made her look more cherubic than sombre.

“Harry has had his supper already and he is a guest.” Molly corrected, unwaveringly.

“ _Mémé! Ceci n’est pas juste!_ ” Victoire wailed. Though she resembled her sister, their colouring was rather different, Victoire clad head to toe with sprays of freckles like her father and her hair was far more strawberry, as if Fleur’s typically dominant Veela genes had met their match with the tenacious Weasley fiery hair. Harry noted she’d had another growth spurt, which put her quite at a bit taller than his godson’s natural height, though she was the same age as Teddy.

(His godson was sure to be annoyed by this news. When the family had gathered together at last Easter, Teddy had grown an extra half foot just to annoy the little witch who had been so enraged by his smugness that she’d dumped Audrey’s dessert trifle over his head. The resulting squabble landed both of them covered in mud from the nearby pond, much to Harry’s dismay. He’d worried Andromeda would never let him to take Teddy out every again but the older witch had simply laughed. _Nothing his mother didn’t put me through twice over,_ she’d remarked with an eye roll.)

“They’re not ready yet.” Molly held firm. “And they won’t be until that mess you made upstairs is cleaned up.”

The girls howled in unison. “ _We didn’t-!”_

“It’s a shame too, because I added extra chocolate chips.” She added, sighing sorrowfully. “All to waste. Such a pity.”

Victoire and Dominique exchanged loaded glances with each other and then threw their grandmother a scrutinising stare which strongly resembled their mother’s frightful intensity. Harry would’ve cracked but Molly simply sat at her table, sipping her tea with ne’er a care in the world until-

Sharp whispers in French, a stampede of little feet up the staircase, the distant slam of a door and suddenly the kitchen was calm again.

Harry raised a brow at Molly. “How’d you know they made a mess?”

Molly sipped her tea with another sigh, this one more fond than woeful. “There’s always a mess dear.”

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know why this chapter took so long, it is because of two reasons.
> 
> Firstly, writing Molly Weasley was so unexpectedly hard I literally gave up for a few weeks and wrote the next chapter (soon to come, won't take nearly as much time.)
> 
> Secondly, I had to change some details for the rest of the fic in light of JK Rowling's gross anti-transgender rights rant because this fic and this writer supports trans women as real women and that's that ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Also, bonus points if you can guess whose Knick-knack is whose.  
> Also, also, say hello to Ginny, she's a fave of mine even though she hasn't made much of an appearance. yet.


	7. IT’S AS MUCH ABOUT WHAT IS SAID AS WHERE IT’S SAID

SEVEN.

IT’S AS MUCH ABOUT WHAT IS SAID AS WHERE IT’S SAID

The note was written in Kingsley’s customary style.

Meaning it was around five lines of fine cursive, scribbled on a literal scrap of paper and delivered by his incredibly judgemental owl. The creature made a low purring noise in his throat when Harry approached it at his kitchen window the next morning.

For a Minister for Magic, Kingsley didn’t seem to put much ceremony in his correspondence.

The note didn’t give much away. Just asked Harry to attend a meeting at his office at around half past twelve that afternoon. He initially thought this was a little presumptive ( _what if he’d had plans?_ ) before realising that Kingsley probably knew he didn’t have anything better to do than sit about waiting for news.

“D’you have any clue what’s going on?” he asked the owl who simply blinked, ruffled his feathers and took off from the window again. “S’pose that’s a no, then.”

Suddenly Ron’s earlier mention of interrogating the owls seemed not altogether ridiculous.

He spent the morning trying not to focus on the clock (which proved useless), and to focus instead on preparing for what the meeting could have in store (which proved anxious).

At around twelve, Harry prepared to leave his flat, tugging his old school trunk out from under his bed. From it, he withdrew his cloak. The material felt nearly weightless as it always had, slipping between his fingers like water made cloth. His tugged it over his shoulders, lifting the hood over his head until he had completely vanished from sight. As it usually did, the sensation was tinged with a strange sort of nostalgia. When he, Ron and Hermione had hidden beneath it as tiny First Years, it had seemed voluminous and mysterious, capable of shielding all three of them. Now it skimmed along the ground as he walked, concealing every inch of his body but certainly no bigger than his regular cloak.

He figured he was better to take the Floo than Apparate, to better avoid the main entrance to the Ministry. While his tiny apartment did not have the space for a fireplace (hence Ginny’s head on the stovetop), there was a communal one installed in the foyer for the use of the building’s magical inhabitants. It was maintained with a low, heatless flame with a discreet pot of green powder on the mantle.

Harry took a brief moment to settle himself in the relative calm of the building’s foyer, then set foot into the flames. Within moments, he emerged from the wreath of crackling emerald flames into the bustling belly of the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium.

The enormous gilded hall buzzed with witches and wizards and creatures of all sizes, hustling to and fro on their own business. Harry even caught a glimpse of one or two of his co-workers, silver Auror badges flashing. Though he still didn’t enjoy crowds, being invisible made the experience far more tolerable. Harry wove through the clumps of people and creatures, ducking around outflung hands and powerwalking assistants as they charged through the fray.

He passed the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren about halfway down, or at least, the new one. It was an early passion project of Hermione’s from when she first entered the Ministry. The old one, featuring the magical creatures staring adoringly up at the witch and wizard, had been destroyed during the War. Its replacement was almost twelve feet tall, and featured a sort of enormous spill of liquid bronze, suspended in the centre of the fountain where it rippled and flexed in slow motion.

Every so often, the liquid bronze surged and swirled to form a glowing, shining figure rendered in terrific detail. The figure was sometimes a witch, or a wizard, or sometimes a House Elf, or a goblin, or a centaur or a giant or a mermaid or any number of creature. No two figures, even of the same species, were ever quite the same. It was an impressive bit of spell work. Many assumed she’d done it herself, though Harry knew Hermione had in fact commissioned a small army of magical artists to prepare it.

Moving on from the statue, Harry neatly folded himself into one of the less crowded elevators from the bank of them at the end of the Atrium. He slipped out on the first level. Kingsley’s office was at the very end of the long hallway, guarded by his assistant Fiona Firth who took her job as the gatekeeper to the Minister’s office very seriously.

It was with no small satisfaction that Harry suddenly revealed himself in front of her desk, prompting a small yelp of surprise.

“Good afternoon, Fiona.” He said politely, with a smile as though nothing could possibly have been wrong. “I have an appointment at half past twelve.”

She gaped at him, twisting to glare behind him at the corridor where she should have had generous forewarning of his arrival. “Mister Potter- I- where did you-” she stammered, bewildered and almost a little indignant. “You can’t Apparate in here!”

“I’d imagine not. Doesn’t seem very secure for the Minister’s office.” Harry agreed casually and tilted his chin towards the door behind her. “Is he in then?”

Fiona forcibly composed herself, standing and ushering him through. “He’s expecting you. May I take your cloak, sir?” she asked, stiffly.

“Oh, this old thing? I wouldn’t part with it for the world.” Harry replied, unable and unwilling to explain the joke as he entered the office. He stuffed into his coat pocket as he went, the material crumpling with ease.

But any small amount of cheer he’d had evaporated on sight. Kingsley was not alone.

“Harry.” he said, with a small nod. He looked tired. “Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” His desk had been transfigured to a conference table which seated the room’s four occupants.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Harry said, politely as he sat before turning to the witch beside him. “Madame Zhao.” He greeted, warily. Thick dark hair cut close to her scalp at the sides and streaked with grey on top, she wore a pair of thin rimmed glasses which did nothing to conceal her bright, alert gaze.

Rebecca Zhao was the Head of the Auror Department and had been since Kingsley left for the Minister’s office. Since the end of the war, she’d been the driving force behind the push to reinstall public faith and confidence in the Department, whose reputation had been besmirched with Death Eaters and spies for the Dark Lord during the war.

As far as Harry knew, she’d done remarkably well at it. The Chiefs under her command referred to her with respect and spoke highly of her, including his own, Chief Auror Whittaker.

Personally, they hadn’t had much contact during his six years with the Auror Department, though that was likely purposeful. Zhao had always been exceptionally careful in treating he and Ron with the same mindfulness and support she gave all the Aurors under her command, which he’d appreciated and understood. Playing favourites was never a good look but especially not with war heroes who had more or less skipped the years of hard slog at the Auror Academy.

That being said, the last time they’d spoken, Zhao was demanding Harry hand over his Auror badge.

However, if she bore him any ill will the witch was remarkably gifted at concealing it. “Mr Potter. Nice to see you again.” She acknowledged, turning to the man beside her. “No doubt, you already know Mr Bridewell.” Here, she did not hide her tone of disdain.

The mild-looking wizard beside her was not ruffled by it. He simply greeted Harry with a neutral nod. “We’ve met before when I signed the warrant for Wilbur Tiltenhaus’ arrest.”

“I remember.” Harry said, flatly.

Zhao made a humming noise of derision. “Well, while ordinarily I find it inappropriate to discuss sensitive matters of this kind with _temporary_ officials,” she emphasised the word, pointedly. “These are not ordinary circumstances.”

Kingsley sighed noisily behind his desk. “Rebecca,” he began but Bridewell raised a hand, asking for a moment.

“Minister, if you would allow me,” he interrupted, politely. “Madame Zhao, I understand your reservations, I do. But I can assure you I am aware I’m only here to warm the seat for my successor, nothing more, nothing less. I’m only here to assist in whatever fashion I can.” He gave a bland smile but then, everything about Bridewell was bland. His cloak and shirt were pale grey. His hair was an unremarkable shade of dark brown. With every twitch of his face, he seemed to evaporate from the memory of those around him. Hermione alleged that he’d been selected from one of the actuary departments of the Ministry’s treasury, which made the whole thing even more ridiculous in Harry’s book.

After almost eight months, Harry still marvelled that such a wizard had been placed, even temporarily, as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. The stupidity of the Ministry’s bureaucracy was breathtaking at times.

Zhao, it seemed, was as unimpressed by the man as Harry. “Be that as it may, Mr Bridewell, the situation requires more than assistance, it needs a solution.” She turned to Harry. “Mr Potter, I’m sure you’re aware that Mr Talbins has made a fine scene for himself in the press.”

“Couldn’t have missed it.” Harry responded, flatly. “I’m on the front page of every paper from here to Turkey.”

Zhao hummed. “I suppose you couldn’t. You drop your shoulder when you throw your Jelly Bones Jinx, by the way.” She added, offhandedly.

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled a long almost-sigh. “Thanks.”

“The question at hand is how this incident will affect the trial.” Kingsley reigned them back to the matter at hand, firmly. “Ordinarily, I’d just remove Talbins from the defence-”

“He should’ve been removed as soon as he started attacking Sasha Tiltenhaus.” Harry bit out. Then, he added, belatedly: “Sir.”

Kingsley frowned. “I don’t disagree, Harry. But I’m afraid that now it’ll look as though we’re stacking the deck. It only strengthens Tiltenhaus’ appeal.”

“He’s already planning an appeal.” Harry stated with a scowl. “Have they declared a mistrial then? That’s what Talbins’ been banging on about this whole time isn’t it?”

Zhao’s flinty eyes glinted as she spoke. “The Wizengamot has ruled that the trial will continue as planned. Talbins has been retained, though he knows he’s on his last bloody leg. They’re set to re-examine Sasha Tiltenhaus next Friday.”

“They’re putting her through all that _again_?” Harry exclaimed, aghast. “Hasn’t she gone through enough?”

Hands clasped tightly together on the table, Kingsley looked as disapproving of the decision as Harry. “It was put to a vote and passed.” He said, flatly “Talbins has been retained on the defence but he’s been demoted as their interrogator. A new one has been appointed, an outside contractor this time. She’s been warned that she is to treat Sasha carefully. The courts don’t take harassment of underaged witnesses lightly, Harry.” he added, firmly. “This will be done right, I promise.”

“The only problem is,” Zhao sighed with frustration. “Sasha has added a condition to her testimony.”

Harry frowned. “Which is?”

“She wants you present in the courtroom with her.” Zhao said, bluntly.

Bridewell made a small cough, the first noise he’d made in the discussion so far. “I’m not so sure that’s a wise decision.” He said, peaceably. Harry had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. They watered from the exertion.

Kingsley let loose a noisy sigh. “Yes, that was the general impression of the Wizengamot as well.” He added as though exasperated by the court members’ increasingly ridiculous whims.

Zhao raised a brow at the men. “I’ll be blunt,” she said, as though she had any other way to be. “If Sasha doesn’t testify, this case will fall apart. The physical evidence isn’t enough to guarantee a conviction and short of tying Tiltenhaus down and drugging him with Veritaserum-”

“Which is illegal, Rebecca.” Kingsley cut in, coolly. “Until he’s convicted, Tiltenhaus has rights same as any of us.”

Zhao shrugged. “We need the daughter’s story to corroborate the evidence found on the property and the secondary witness accounts. Even the financial motivation is circumstantial.”

“But Sasha’s already given her testimony.” Harry insisted, fiercely. “She doesn’t know anything else, what would be the point of putting through all this again-!”

The witch threw him a level, unperturbed look. “Mr Potter, you know as well as I do that when it comes to convictions, it’s as much about what is said as where it’s said. In this case, the Wizengamot have decided to expunge the entire day from the record of the trial.” The muscles in her jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth. “If Sasha doesn’t return, it will be as if she never said a word in the first place.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, pushing down the anger writhing in his stomach. “I don’t suppose you stopped to wonder how Talbins knew those things about Sasha.” he finally said, in an icy tone. The implication was clear.

Zhao didn’t even flinch. “All the more reason to put this bastard away where he won’t be able to hurt her or anyone else ever again.”

Well, how was Harry supposed to argue with that?

* * * * *  
* * * *

Harry emerged from Kingsley’s office in a terrible mood, made all the worse by the fact that he knew they were right.

The incident in the Wizengamot was his fault and his mess to clean up. If not for the sake of the trial, then for the benefit of the little girl who he’d made a promise to.

He didn’t even bother waiting for Fiona to look away before he whipped the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, vanishing from sight. He heard her slight gasp though. Well, if Harry’s disappearing act prompted Fiona to install stricter security measures, then it served Kingsley right.

The thought of heading back to the apartment made him itchy and uncomfortable so he followed a whim, taking the elevator three more floors up rather than back down to the Atrium.

The corridor he exited on to was far wilder than the Minister’s office. Wizards and witches surged back and forth, paper letters swum through the air in the shape of planes or tiny birds or fish, all to the tune of unending chatter and discussion. To one side, the corridor opened onto a bullpen full of desks much like the Auror Department, filled with various creatures and wizards alike. To the other side, there was a series of offices including at the end with a smart green enamel plaque on the door which read _HERMIONE J. GRANGER._

The mood felt almost jubilant in comparison to the meeting he’d just exited; as Harry drew towards Hermione’s office, he noticed a small crowd of people in the bullpen, most of them grinning and slapping each other on the back as they poured out bottles of fizzy pink cherry champagne, collars loosened and shoulders relaxed. Deftly removing his cloak as he stood on the threshold of the office, Harry knocked on the open door with a grin.

“I assume the coup went well then?” he said, dryly. Hermione glanced up from her desk, meeting his gaze with an answering grin. Her eyes sparkled and she looked to be almost glowing with glee.

“Better than I could’ve dreamed!” she trilled, entirely unsurprised by the sight of him. Since Ron had left the Ministry, it was not unusual for Harry to find his way up to the Department of Magical Beasts and Beings to chat or spend lunch with his other best friend. “The look on their _faces_ when I told them, oh Harry- I know it’s not the point but _Merlin,_ it felt so _good.”_

“Nothing wrong with taking pleasure in your job.” Harry said with a shrug.

“This is such a huge win, I can’t- I _almost_ can’t believe it.” she corrected herself, closing her drawer. “But it’s just the beginning, there’s so much we’re planning now that this has gone through.”

“Maybe you should come for the Auror Department next.” Harry mused, thinking of Ron’s suggestion from the past week.

Hermione paused at the comment. “Why? What’s happened? Have they decided something about the trial?”

Unwilling to ruin her joy, Harry shrugged, taking one of the seats across from her desk. “Nothing major.” He said, evasively but Hermione’s eyes narrowed all the same, mouth pursing slightly.

“They called you down to the Ministry for ‘nothing major’?” she said, doubtfully.

Harry shifted, uncomfortable with her eagle-eyed gaze. “I met with Kingsley. They’ve asked for a repeat of testimony or else it’ll be excluded.” He finally said, reluctantly.

Hermione scowled. Despite Harry’s promise not to discuss the case while it was at trial, she’d been made aware of certain details, as much through the _Prophet’s_ excessive articles featuring quote from Talbins, as through what Harry had omitted from their discussions. More than bright enough to put two and two together, she inferred the consequences of asking the case’s _underaged_ star witness (though thankfully as of yet unnamed by the press) to repeat testimony.

“Forget the Auror Department,” she said, scathingly. “I’ll go after the bloody Wizengamot next. Those bylaws they operate under are downright archaic _._ ”

_Exactly how they like it,_ Harry couldn’t help but think, darkly. He shrugged instead.

“I suppose there’s one good thing to come out of this.” she said after a moment, leaning against her desk with her arms crossed.

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, tilting his chair to rest on two legs for a few moments. “Hit me with it, I could use some good news.”

“If they were going to fire you, they would’ve done it by now.” She shrugged, looking rather cheered by the suggestion. “You’ll be back at the Department in no time, I’m sure.”

Harry said nothing at that, simply glanced back out at the bullpen where the celebration continued. Someone had opened a new bottle of cherry champagne; he could smell its dizzyingly, fizzy sweet smell from here.

“Harry?” Hermione moved closer, sounding concerned. “Isn’t that- I thought that’s what you wanted?”

He glanced back at her with a grin. “Yeah, of course.”

“Are you fake smiling at me?” Hermione demanded, scowling. “Really? _Me?_ ”

He dropped the expression, wearily. “You know, it’s rude to call me out on it.” Harry said, idly.

“It’s rude to _fake smile_ at me like I’m a- a- _stranger!_ ” She retorted, saying the last word as though it were the very worst one she could think of, which for Hermione it probably was. Harry cracked a much smaller but thankfully real smile at the idea.

“Don’t worry about it, Mione,” he said instead. “I came to see how your coup went so let’s focus on that.”

“Or we could focus on how keen you seem to be to throw away the career you’ve spent years working on down the toilet.” Hermione rebutted, tenaciously.

Harry let out a vaguely annoyed sigh but a part of him actually relished the chance to really get into the subject, that itchy feeling sneaking up through his spine at the opportunity to hash it all out. But the conversation was broken by a startled _oh_ at the door. They glanced around to see one of Hermione’s staffers standing with two glasses of cherry champagne.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t realise you had company-” he said, uncertainly. He looked appallingly young, which made Harry feel appallingly old just thinking it. “I just thought-” he gestured to the champagne glasses.

“None for me, thanks Michael.” Hermione replied, politely but warmly. She tilted her head towards the bullpen. “How many bottles have they gone through?”

“I-I’m not sure, ma’am.” Michael flushed pink the cheeks. “I could check-?”

“Never mind. Go on, enjoy.” She waved a hand. “You’ve all done exceptionally well, take the win.”

As the young man left, Harry smothered his smile. “Not much of a liar that one.” he told Hermione.

“No, but he speedreads at eight thousand words a minute.” She replied back, without missing a beat. “And Croker had him working the desk at the International Customs Office for Magical Curiosities and Confiscations. What a bloody _waste_.” She said rolling her eyes.

“Look at you, poaching young geniuses, trampling governmental injustice.” Harry said, feeling immeasurably proud of his friend’s success.

Hermione shrugged. “They needed trampling.”

“He calls you _ma’am_.”

“They all do. I tried doing the first name thing my first week but it didn’t go so well.” Hermione grimaced. “They’re stubborn.”

“That’s not the worst thing in the world.” Harry pointed out.

“You’re right.” she said with a small smile. “Besides, they’ll need to be for what comes next.”

“And what’s that then?” Harry asked, a little too brightly. The change in subject had arrived at precisely the right time to keep Harry from saying things he might regret and he was loathe to give it up. Hermione eyed him for a moment, as though weighing her options on whether it was worth demanding answers. Thankfully – miraculously - she let it go.

“Well, like I said, the precedent is set now. We’re planning to roll out new legislation guaranteeing equal representation across all sub-councils but that won’t be for a few months…” she gracefully accepted the olive branch, explaining the future plans that had been set into motion by the day’s win.

Harry took special care to throw himself into the conversation, studiously avoiding the mess he’d created for himself which loomed just outside the department’s warm triumphant atmosphere.

After all, he was sure it would be patiently waiting for him as it had been for past three weeks since the whole thing had started in the dungeons of the Wizengamot’s criminal chambers.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^This is an apology for taking so long to update so enjoy!! More questions than answers in this chapter but all (well, most?) is revealed next chapter when we get our first look at What Happened At The Trial before we skip back over to Dursley Land ;)


	8. THREE WEEKS EARLIER

EIGHT.

THREE WEEKS EARLIER.

Despite having attended countless trials in the Wizengamot criminal chambers in his career, Harry had never found himself completely comfortable in the dungeon courtrooms.

They called up memories he’d rather forget: of being on trial for defending himself against a Dementor attack, of the mounting suspicion that the Ministry had been infiltrated by Voldemort supporters, of being truly fearful that he might lose his wand.

He put the thoughts out of his head as he usually did, concentrating instead on the job in front of him. Or rather, beside him.

Pale-faced and thin, Sasha Tiltenhaus looked much younger than her ten years of age. Clad in a dark blue sweater, she sat on the benches to one side of the court, flanked by Harry and another Auror on his squad, a witch by the name of Gylda Gros, who was inspecting the wizards across the hall with narrowed eyes.

“Mr Potter, I don’t feel so good.” The girl whispered. Though she had never lived there, she’d inherited just a hint of her father’s German accent in her vowels.

“Do you need to take a minute outside?” Harry asked in a quiet voice, making it clear there would be no punishment for doing so. “We can wait.”

The tall benches at the head of the court were slowly filling with members, clad in dark plum robes with elaborate silver W’s glowing on the chest. In the front row, the familiar solemn face of Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken up his seat. In the eastern corner of the dungeon, one man, his long spindly moustache matching his equally spindly fingers, had taken up at some kind of twisted, multi-limbed typewriter, though it had far more keys than there were letters in the alphabet. He adjusted it carefully as if he were a musician tuning his instrument before a performance.

Mirrored on the other side of the dungeons was the benches for the defence, a few wizards hovered about, including one man who was thumbing through a few pages of parchment. Every now and then, he exchanged words with his colleagues.

Sasha shook her head slowly. “But I won’t have to sit in that chair, right?” she asked in a whisper, looking at the defendant’s seat. Its chains twitched menacingly as though it could hear the question.

Harry scowled at it. More bad memories. “No. He’ll sit there. You’ll be over there,” he pointed instead to a small podium set to the left side of the dungeon floor, just behind the eye line of the defendant seat. “He won’t be able to look at you, even if he wanted to, remember?”

“I remember.” Sasha echoed, with a shaky breath.

Above the girl’s head, Gylda caught his eye. “Talbins looks pleased with himself.” She said under her breath. Sasha began to pick at a loose thread on her skirt.

“Don’t know what he has to be pleased about,” Harry remarked in a low voice, coolly. “Having to look at that smarmy mug in the mirror every morning.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Gylda’s face, dimpling her cheek slightly. She tossed the blonde curls cut neatly at her chin as she leaned back against the bench so they could chat quietly over Sasha’s head. “Navi’s on prisoner duty.” She said casually.

Harry smothered his smirk. “It’s Navi now, huh?”

“Shove it.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

"You don't have to." Gylda threw him a baleful look before she continued. “I told her to keep an eye on him.”

“Who? Tiltenhaus? You’re expecting him to make a break?” Harry frowned.

Gylda shook her head slowly, still eying the defence team opposite them. Only one or two dared to stare back. “Not Tiltenhaus.”

Before Harry could enquire further, Sasha began to quiver. “Sasha, any time you need a break, let me know.” Harry told her in a gentle tone.

“I keep holding my breath, what if I get faint again?” she muttered, nervously.

Harry leaned against her gently. “It’s okay. Everyone gets nervous. How about I nudge you to remind you to take a breath?”

Sasha considered this and nodded slowly. “Okay, Mr Potter.”

“Harry.” He reminded, gently.

“Harry.”

When the members had settled, Kingsley nodded once. The man in the corner began, his typewriter clicking with a chittering sound like a hungry baby bird. “The court is in session to consider a witness testimonial hearing of the thirteenth of March.” Kingsley began, in his customary booming voice. “The court will hear the testimony of Sasha Tiltenhaus in the matter of the criminal charges laid against her father, Wilbur Tiltenhaus.” Beside Harry, the girl quivered at the name. He nudged her gently and she took a deep breath, obediently.

Kingsley continued: “Interrogators include myself, Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister for Magic, Edgar Bridewell, interim Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Rebecca Zhao, Senior Auror Head of the Investigations Department. Court scribe Deodas Sampson will record. Member Jeremy Talbins will question on behalf of the defendant.”

As soon as he concluded, the doors to the back of the court opened. Tall and athletically built, her hair arranged in its customary long thick braid down her spine, Junior Auror Navita Khatri was the picture of Auror discipline and professionalism as she ushered the defendant inside. Harry had gotten to know his latest trainee quite well in recent months since she exited her Training phase, but even he couldn’t judge her expression. It was concealed in mask of careful neutrality as she escorted her charge. Though if Harry had to guess, he suspected there may have been a flash of disgust in her face.

Her charge shuffled forward weakly, clad in manacles and shivering. Tiltenhaus could play the innocent old man card as long as he liked but Harry refused to buy it. His fine hair was scraggly and ungroomed, his clothes in tatters; a far cry from how he’d looked when Harry had arrest him. He’d been spending his nights in Azkaban since his arrest. Though not the horror it had once been since the Ministry had dismissed the Dementor guards (which Harry had been vocally and aggressively in support of), the wizarding prison was hardly prone to providing its occupants a good night’s rest.

But despite all this, Tiltenhaus’ eyes were still sharp and clear, scanning the courtroom with the focus of a bird of prey. When he found Sasha, he flashed a tiny smirk until he passed them and could no longer hold his gaze.

The girl quivered. Harry nudged her.

Khatri sat the man down in the defendant’s seat, letting the thick black chains snap into place with audible ferociousness. Tiltenhaus let out a pathetic whimper of discomfort.

“The defendant is discharged to the courts, sir.” She informed Kingsley crisply.

He in turn nodded to the wizard opposite Harry and Gylda. “You may begin Mr Talbins.”

Talbins was an average looking wizard with his thinning, brown hair and slightly hooked nose, though his jaw was weak and he had a habit of squinting as he spoke. He stepped forward, plum robes flaring as he pointed with unnecessary dramatic emphasis towards Sasha. “I call Sasha Tiltenhaus to testify.”

Harry nudged the girl once more as they stood. As he guided her to the stand, Talbins scowled. “Auror Potter has not been called by the courts.” He snapped.

Harry ignored him, instead focusing on helping Sasha to the podium. One more look at the brave girl before him and Harry retreated to the bench, keeping as close to her as possible. He made sure to catch her eye as he sat, to be sure she knew he was here to support her.

The wizard squinted. “Full name for the record, if you would.”

“Alexandra Cläre Tiltenhaus.” She said in her quivering voice. “I-I like Sasha though.”

Talbins ignored her. “You are the daughter of the defendant, Wilbur Tiltenhaus.” He announced, gesturing to the man in chains. He could not turn his head to see her but Sasha flinched all the same.

“Yes.”

“You told the Aurors that you witnessed an incident at your home in Myrtlebeak in October of last year, is that correct?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You will recount to the court your testimony of those events.”

Sasha began. In halting breaths and unsteady words, she explained what she had told Harry months ago. How she had been upstairs in her bedroom asleep one night, sent there without supper by her father, she explained, because she’d broken a window that afternoon.

“How did you break it?” Talbins interrupted.

“Ex-excuse me?”

He repeated, slowly as if she had not understood him. “How did you break the window?”

“…I threw a rock at it. It broke.”

“Deliberately, I assume.”

“No! It was an accident-”

“I see and you explained this to your father?”

“Yes, I-”

“And he punished you by sending you to bed without dinner.”

Sasha looked ashamed. “Yes.”

“Is that the truth, Miss Tiltenhaus?” Talbins gestured to her father. “In his own statement to the Auror Department, your father said he wasn’t punishing you for breaking the window but rather for lying about it.”

The girl swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “Yes, that’s true. I-I forgot.” There was a small murmur in the benches.

“You forgot. I see.” Talbins continued, dryly. He made a note of something on a sheet of parchment on a nearby table. Harry scowled. “Continue with your testimony.”

“I woke up when I heard voices downstairs.” Sasha continued, slowly. “They were shouting-”

“What time?”

“What?”

“At what time were you awoken?” Talbins repeated.

Sasha was clearly caught off guard by the question. “I-I don’t know. It was dark.”

“Seven o’clock? Eight o’clock?” he pressed, impatiently.

“Maybe…midnight?” she turned backwards to glance at Harry, panicked. “I don’t know what time.”

Harry threw a glare towards the man sitting on Kingsley’s right. But Bridewell remained close lipped. Kingsley on the other hand openly frowned, unimpressed. “Mr Talbins, get to the point.”

“Of course, Minister.” Talbins inclined his head politely. “Please, continue, Miss Tiltenhaus. We’ll make a note that it was dark at the time.” He added, in a tone that was just shy of sarcastic.

Sasha took another deep breath. “My dad was shouting at someone.” She said, slowly, forcing her voice to calm. “I went to the stairs, to see what was going on. Mr Belgrave was there. He’s my dad’s business partner. We went to his birthday party last year.” She added, in a gloomy voice.

“Only the relevant details, if you would, Miss Tiltenhaus.” Talbins reminded her, carelessly.

Her shoulders shuddered. “There was a woman as well. She was old but she looked really angry with my dad. She said she’d make sure he went to prison.”

Another murmur swept through the Wizengamot gallery. Talbins frowned. “Do you know what they were accusing your father of?”

Sasha shook her head. She was gripping the podium with both hand, knuckles white with strain. “I didn’t hear. But dad told them-” She gasped, as though summoning the words. “He told them they weren’t going to leave the house alive.”

The gallery burst into whispers, so much so that Kingsley raised his palm, asking for silence. “My, it sounds like quite a scene.” Talbins remarked, casually. “And then what happened?”

Sasha looked near tears. “Mr Belgrave took out his wand but Dad- There was a flash of green and he- he killed him. Dad killed Mr Belgrave.” More whispers. Hisses as well, that echoed about the room.

“And the woman?” Talbins pressed. Harry bristled at the man’s tone.

“Dad told her to shut up and then she flew backwards-” Sasha cut herself off again, wilting slightly. When she spoke, her words were wet. “She hit our front door. Dad used this spell I’d never seen before and then she was bleeding, from _everywhere-_ ”

“Miss Tiltenhaus, are you aware that no blood was found at the scene by authorities on their visit to your home?” Talbins asked, squinting again.

The girl trembled. “Dad cleaned it up with magic. Then he took the- the bodies outside. I don't know- there was this awful smell. And smoke. And when he came back in, he looked up at me but he wasn’t surprised he just- he said I should just go back to bed and forget about it.” Sasha let out a final shaky breath, as if she’d finally unburdened the horrible moments from her shoulders and was weak with the effort. But Talbins wasn’t finished. Not even slightly.

“Miss Tiltenhaus, you attend pre-Hogwarts tutoring, is that correct?” he enquired.

Sasha frowned, confused but nodded.

“And your tutor Miss-” he paused, checking his notes as though the name had escaped him. “-Jemima Gilly had a meeting with your father a few days before this alleged incident occurred, correct?”

 _As if he hasn’t been memorising every detail of the case to make it worth his fifteen minutes of fame,_ Harry thought to himself, irritably. _As if this isn’t the most impressive thing he’s ever been asked to do in his worthless career._

Meanwhile, Sasha’s face turned pink. “Y-yes.”

“Do you know what the meeting was about?” Talbins asked, archly.

Sasha shook her head but she refused to meet the wizard’s eye. Harry tensed all over. He knew where this was going.

“Wasn’t it to discuss how you’d lied to her about a project you hadn’t completed?” Talbins poked, hardening his tone.

“I-I didn’t lie, I told her it was at home.” Sasha’s voice was small.

“But you couldn’t find it at home.” Talbins countered, almost mockingly. “In fact, Miss Gilly came to your house to check and she and your father couldn’t find a shred of evidence that you’d done the work.”

“But I did do it!” Sasha pleaded. “I don’t know what happened to it-”

“It seems to me you have a habit of making things up, Miss Tiltenhaus.” Talbins concluded as though he hadn’t heard her.

Like a poisonous mist rising from the unknown depths below the courtroom, a memory teased its way through Harry’s rising anger. It had a voice tinged with fear and a slight Irish accent, shouting at him from across the Gryffindor boys’ dorm. _You believe all the rubbish he’s coming out with about You-Know-Who, do you? You reckon he’s telling the truth?_

Then it was honey sweet and vile and it made his hand rock with tremors. _This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter._

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t lie? You’ve already admitted you lied once Miss Tiltenhaus, should I ask the court scribe to read it back to you? Mr Sampson-?”

This time the stern faced woman on Kingsley’s right spoke up, her frosty tone edging into hostility. “Mr Talbins, you would do well to remember that the witness is not on trial.”

Talbins immediately bowed slightly. A ridiculous, overspun gesture. It set Harry’s teeth on edge. “Of course, Madame Zhao. I’m simply establishing the witness’ credibility for the court, as is my responsibility.” He assured.

Still, Bridewell remained silent, watching the proceedings with a blank expression. As the Head of Law Enforcement - even interim head – it was under his purview to keep interrogators in line but in this instance, he seemed content to allow Zhao and Kingsley to do his job for him.

“You are on thin ice, Mr Talbins.” Kingsley warned, with a scowl. “You will treat the witness with respect or I will remove you as the attending defence interrogator is that clear?”

“Crystal, Minister.” Talbins bowed again. He turned back to Sasha. “Did your father take you to a Healer recently, Miss Tiltenhaus?” he asked, in a voice as calm as anything.

“A Healer?” she echoed, voice high and reedy. She looked panicked and uncertain, like she wasn’t sure this wasn’t another trap.

“For your…condition?” he prompted. When she said nothing, he snatched a scrap of paper from the desk, as though scanning it for the correct term. Harry narrowed his eyes. The paper was probably blank. The melodramatic prick. Talbins was clearly performing in the leading role of the play he’d wrote himself, in front of a captive audience who literally couldn’t leave. “…Nocturnal eneuresis? Isn’t that correct?”

Sasha’s brow furrowed, completely lost. “I- I don’t know.”

“Nocturnal enuresis?” he repeated, pointedly annunciating each word. When she continued to looked bewildered, Talbins made a tiny noise of exasperation with a glance towards the members on the bench as if to say, _I’ve tried to ask nicely but she’s simply not cooperating_. “Fine. Is it true you still wet the bed, Miss Tiltenhaus?” he said, loudly and openly in front of nearly three dozen strangers.

Sasha’s blush turned full crimson red with humiliation. “Wh-what?”

“Is it true-?” he seemed ready to repeat the question but Sasha cut in, urgently.

“N-no! It’s not- I mean I have d-dreams- sometimes-”

Talbins ignored her, winding up for his big finish with a put-upon air. “Miss Tiltenhaus, you can be honest here,” he sounded almost kind. “If this is simply another cry for attention-”

 _Fame clearly isn’t everything, is it Mr Potter?_ The voice, like liquid poison, spoke again. It wore his old potion master’s voice this time.

“Enough.” Before he was even aware he was the voice who had spoken, Harry had launched to his feet, striding forward until he stood between the podium.

The Wizengamot member looked taken aback. “Auror Potter! You, you have not been called by the court-!”

Kingsley had risen in the stands. “Auror Potter, I have to ask you to return to your seat.” He said, reluctantly.

Harry ignored them all. He glared down Talbins, drawing himself up to his full, not inconsiderable, height. “She’s ten years old. Back off.”

“I am a Member of the Wizengamot Courts charged with a duty to interrogate witnesses on behalf of the defendant-!” Talbins blustered, unsure of how to respond to his one-man-show being disrupted by a rude audience member.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you talk to her again.” Harry snapped, filled with an anger so old, buried so deep inside him that it was practically dusty but it burned through his gut like a wildfire all the same.

“Mr Potter, return to your seat.” Shacklebolt boomed above them. “Now.”

“ _Harry_.” Gylda hissed behind him in warning.

Talbins swallowed, thickly. Out of habit or instinct or perhaps even genuine fear, he reached for his wand.

In an instant, Harry’s wand was drawn as well.

The mood of the chambers went tense to practically electric in a matter of heartbeats.

“Mr Potter, you will disarm immediately!”

“Harry, _sit down-_ ”

With the hand white-knuckling his wand, Talbins waved his arm towards the commands being issued from the benches. “You heard them!” he said, though his voice was pinched. “Stand down, immediately! This is in clear violation of the Wizengamot chamber rules! That girl-”

He couldn’t see Sasha behind him but he thought he could hear her whisper his name. It didn’t matter if she said anything or if Talbins had intended to use his wand for anything more than a weak attempt at intimidation because in the next breath, Talbins was waving his wand again in gesture, but this time he was pointing at Sasha, just a little girl, a girl terrified of the person who supposed to protect her and Harry couldn’t just stand by, he couldn’t just watch, _he wouldn’t-_

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

The wand flung itself from Talbins’ grasp with such force that it nearly smacked the court stenographer in the forehead on the other end of the room.

(Luckily Deodas ducked.)

The chamber fell silent, breathless with anticipation.

“Minister-!” Talbins cried, looking outraged and frightened in equal measure. He pointed a finger at Harry. “I-I _demand_ this wizard be removed from the court! _Immediately!_ He has _attacked_ a Member of the Wizengamot -!”

“Mr Talbins, compose yourself.” Kingsley boomed with audible fury. “Mr Potter-”

“Minister, Miss Khatri and I will escort Mr Potter and the witness from the chambers.” Gylda had appeared beside him, her body radiating tension.

Kingsley nodded and turned to face the rest of the court who had begun to emerge from their stupor and were now playing the dangerous game of exchanging whispers and opinions.

“-just as well-”

“-attacked a member-”

“-was he meant to do-?”

“-no hesitation-”

“Harry, stow the wand and let’s get Sasha out of here.” Gylda ordered under breath, nudging him none too gently. He hadn’t even realised his arm was still raised. Every movement felt heavy and mechanical as he put his wand away.

Distantly, he listened to the goings on around him. Kingsley was addressing the Wizengamot - arguing that clearly the situation had gotten out of hand, mostly due to the unethical handling of the witness by Member Talbins - but Harry could not hear him, not entirely. The full scenario which had just plaid out was beginning to settle across his shoulders, the weight of it sinking through the muscle, applied to the bone like liquified candle wax. He felt heavy with it. Harry watched Gylda retrieve Sasha from the podium while Khatri flanked him on the left. The Junior Auror threw him a hesitant glance from beneath her lashes as she did before she straightened and recomposed herself. “Sir.” She addressed, under her breath.

But Harry barely paid her a glance as the four of them left the court. His last look backwards only caught the edge of a smile on Wilbur Tiltenhaus’ face.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HARRY MAY HAVE SOME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA TO WORK ON HMMMM?
> 
> So there's the trial and Harry's little outburst- very justifiable methinks but unfortunately, if you're a law enforcement officer and you pull a weapon in a courtroom you tend to get in trouble so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> More Sasha next chapter and THEN I'M COMING FOR THE DURSLEYS.


	9. LIKE GIVING A MOUSE TO A TWO HEADED ADDER

NINE.

LIKE GIVING A MOUSE TO A TWO HEADED ADDER

Only a short walk east from Monument Station along the Circle and District lines of the Muggle Tube, lay the ruins of St Duncan in the East.

Named for the titular saint (who, though accused of witchcraft, was in fact only a Squib), the large, spacious church was bombed severely by German aerial raids over London during the war. Since then, what remains - half toppled walls, fragments of formerly glorious windows, the slightly ashy bones of the church- has been overtaken by lush, thick greenery. The space has been reclaimed by nature and transformed into a little piece of quiet in the middle of one of the busiest cities on the planet.

Though it had the potential to be somewhat eerie, what with its history and partially decayed state, Harry found it rather peaceful and, most importantly, empty.

Which is why he had suggested it for his meeting with Sasha, away from the eyes of the press and the Ministry and the Auror Department. It was another overcast day, with a mild hint of mist in the air. Harry had found himself a spot on a park bench to wait, with a good view of the entrance from St Dunstan’s Alley.

No more than fifteen minutes had passed before there was a faint crack and a head of blonde curls appeared, glancing around suspiciously. The witch peered through the ruined windows at Harry and, satisfied, was soon joined by a smaller figure wrapped in a pale blue coat with dark hair tied back neatly. Sasha was far less circumspect than Gylda had been; the moment she caught sight of Harry, she broke free from her Auror guardian’s grasp and raced towards him.

Harry barely had time to stand before she collided with him, tightly hugging him with her skinny arms. “ _Harry!_ ” she gasped, sounding breathless with excitement and nerves and emotion. “You’re alright! I’m so glad you’re alright-”

He made sure to smile slightly, sitting back down on his seat so he could meet her eyelevel. “Of course I’m alright, Sasha.” Harry reassured her. “Nothing to fear, I’m fine, I promise.”

“I was worried and Miss Gros said I wasn’t allowed to speak to you and Miss Khatri told me you were in trouble and then Miss Gros told her not to tell me that but I already heard-” Sasha babbled, frantically.

Harry sighed internally. “Miss Khatri shouldn’t have worried you, I promise I’m alright. See? All four limbs in tact.” He said, patiently, neatly avoiding having to explain that Miss Khatri was in fact quite correct.

Sasha’s big brown eyes flicked to all four of his limbs, as though to check for herself. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” she said, her voice shrinking. “It’s all my fault.”

He frowned but at that moment, Gylda joined them, one of her brows raised pointedly. “Sasha, what did I say about running off?” she said, sternly.

The girl looked down. “Not to.”

“Right.” Gylda grumbled but let the matter go. She turned to Harry instead. “Sir.”

“Gros.” Harry greeted with a small smile. “How’s things?”

“Oh you know,” she said breezily. “My good for nothing boss’ taken a vacation and I’m stuck with all his work. The usual.”

“Well he sounds like a proper pri-” Harry began but then caught sight of Sasha’s curious face and quickly cut himself off with a cough. “Well. Sorry to leave you with all my mess.”

Gylda shook her head. “All in a day’s work. Even if it left me trying to persuade this one,” she added, throwing Sasha a pointed glance. “That you hadn’t been spirited off to wherever they send naughty Aurors.”

Sasha frowned, obstinately. “Miss Khatri said-”

“Miss Khatri misspoke.” Gylda interjected, not unkindly but firmly. “See? Harry’s fine, like I told you.”

“People lie.” Sasha said, flatly. Though she usually struck him as especially young, it was in moments like this that Sasha Tiltenhaus appeared immeasurably older than her ten years. (It reminded him, uncomfortably, of himself at that age.)

“Gylda doesn’t lie,” Harry responded quickly, pushing his discomfort aside. “I mean, she might be fibbing a little about her overtime-”

“Un-bloody-likely.” Gylda muttered.

“-but she doesn’t lie.”

Sasha’s scowl drooped, replaced by a grimace. “I’m sorry Harry.” she said, solemnly.

“Sorry? What for?”

The girl sniffed. “It’s like Mr Talbins said,” she said, wetly. “I lied while I was in court. That’s a crime, isn’t it? Lying when you’re in court?”

Gylda visibly supressed her scowl. “Sasha, Mr Talbins had no right to talk to you like that.”

Harry nodded immediately. “Gylda’s right, Sasha. He shouldn’t have called you a liar. That wasn’t right.”

“But he was right, wasn’t he?” she cried. Her shoulders were locked, her head braced as though she were expecting a blow. “I did lie! He asked me about the window and- and the homework assignment and- then he asked about-”

“Sasha,” Harry interrupted, easing her to the seat beside him. He conjured a striped handkerchief to offer her, though her tears were tiny, squeezed out of the very corners of her eyes like she was trying her hardest not to let them fall.

“Talbins was wrong to bring those things up, especially in front of everyone. He was trying to embarrass you because he’s a weak, selfish man who likes to hurt other people to make himself feel more important.” Harry pushed aside his own vision conjured by the description. (His had a moustache and a belt.)

Sasha refused to look at him. “But he was right.” She repeated, waveringly. “About the- the stuff with the Healer.”

“Sasha, listen,” Harry said, firmly, waiting until she was watching him. He wanted to be clear about this, as clear as it was possible to be. “No one has the right to speak to you like that. Just because it was true, doesn’t mean it was relevant. Talbins didn’t bring those things up because they were important, he brought them up specifically to hurt you and that’s not okay. Do you understand?”

He waited until she nodded, although she still appeared unconvinced. Gylda watched over the pair of them silently. When Sasha spoke, her voice was hard and miserable. “I think my Dad told him to say those things.”

Harry cast his eyes at Gylda but she was already watching him evenly. Clearly they had had the same suspicions. “Why do you say that?” Harry asked, carefully.

Sasha gave a great sniff, wiping her cheeks with his hanky. When she looked up, she looked older again, more jaded than a ten year old should. “Because Dad’s the only person who knew about them.”

What made Harry’s stomach turn was that she didn’t even sound surprised by it.

“No one has the right to hurt you, Sasha.” Harry repeated, firmly. “Not Mr Talbins, especially not your Dad.”

“He was meant to go to prison.” Sasha said, wrenching the hanky in her grip. “He was _in_ prison. Why didn’t he just stay there?”

“We’re going to put him away, Sasha.” Gylda assured, a dark expression crossing her face. “For good. You won’t have to see him ever again.”

“I had to see him in court.” The little witch pointed out, flatly. “He’s too clever. He’ll just get out.”

“Not,” Harry began, casting a glance at Gylda. “If we have your help, Sasha. Has Gylda explained what’s going on? About the Wizengamot?” He knew she had. Gylda had sent him a terse message scribbled on a scrap of what might’ve once been a case file, explaining her progress as Sasha’s appointed Auror protection, since Harry had been removed.

Sasha bit her lip. “She says I have to go back. To testify again.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Sasha, I owe you an apology.”

The girl looked up, mystified. “What? Why?”

“I’m the reason you have to go back. I made you a promise that I was going to do everything I could to make sure you were safe and then-” Another deep breath. _Expelliarmus. Talbins shouting. The edge of Tiltenhaus’ smile._ “- I really messed up.”

“But you were helping me,” Sasha defended, immediately. “You were the only one who helped me!”

Harry threw her a weak smile. “I think in this case I did more harm than good.”

“That’s not true!”

He sighed. “Sasha, I’m not sorry for what I did.” He said, frankly. “But I am sorry that because of it, you’re in this situation. It’s not fair on you and that’s my fault.”

She shook her head, almost angrily. “That’s not true!” she repeated, nearly shouting the words. “You were the only one who made him stop! No one else said _anything_!” here she cast a somewhat dark look towards Gylda who stiffened but said nothing.

“Even so,” Harry allowed, his gut wrenching with his own guilt. “We need you to testify again.”

Her anger deflated immediately, replaced by fear. “Is Mr Talbins going to be there again to ask me things?”

Harry shook his head immediately. “No. No, absolutely not. Sasha, if he was-” he said, grinding his teeth slightly at the thought. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if he was.”

Sasha sighed, with a hint of relief. “So who’ll be there instead?”

“He might be in the room,” Gylda explained. “But Mr Talbins won’t be allowed to speak to you. The Wizengamot have arranged for a new interviewer. She’s been given very clear instructions, Sasha. It won’t be like last time.”

This seemed to mollify the girl a little more. “But my Dad, he’ll be there again won’t he?”

Harry forcefully released the tension in his body. “I’m afraid so.”

But Sasha, as in most things, surprised him. Instead of fear, she looked up at the pair of Aurors with a scowl. “Good. I want him to see me.” Harry marvelled at the girl in front of him; she seemed nothing like the quivering, pale face he’d glimpsed through a crack in the door all those weeks ago.

“And you’ll be there, right Harry?” she added, unthinkingly.

Here, Harry winced. “Sasha-”

Her bravery faltered; he could see the nerves creeping up on her. “You’ll be there? Right?” she repeated, urgently.

“Harry’s been asked not to attend the trial, because of what happened.” Gylda interjected, calmly.

“That’s not fair!” Sasha cried. She tossed her head between the two of them, pleading. “They can’t-! It’s not fair!”

“I’ll be right outside the whole time.” Harry said immediately. Whether it was permitted or not, he didn’t care. He’d find a way to camp out on those awful, uncomfortable benches if it killed him. What good was that stupid cloak otherwise? “If anything happens, I’d be the first one inside.”

“And I’ll be right where I was last time.” Gylda added, crouching a little to make sure she held the girl’s full attention. “The second that woman sets a toe out of line, I’ll do whatever necessary to keep you safe, Sasha.” she promised, sombrely. “So will Miss Khatri.”

“Miss Khatri will be there?” Sasha said, quietly.

“She told me so herself.” Gylda said and Harry guessed that if Khatri hadn’t been included in trial duty, she was about to be.

Sasha looked slightly mollified. “Miss Khatri said she had to testify once.” She said slowly. “So she could live with her dad, not her grandma.”

“That’s right.”

“She said it was really scary but that she didn’t have to see her grandma after that and that made it all worth it.” The young witch fidgeted with her hands. “I won’t have to live with Dad after this will I?”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from scowling outright. Instead he let out a deep breath. “Sasha, whether you testify or not,” he said, sombrely. “If you don’t want to live with your Dad, I’ll make sure you don’t have to.”

* * * * *  
* * * *

“You really think you’re going to be able to keep that promise?” Gylda asked him, as they watched Sasha’s temporary guardian Apparate away with the young girl in hand. The pair of them waved as they disappeared.

Harry kept his eyes on the spot where they had vanished. “I’ll find a way to do it.”

“If Tiltenhaus is acquitted, he doesn’t forfeit his parental rights.” his protégé pointed out calmly.

“I know.”

“There’s no reason he won’t be able to take Sasha back.”

“I _know_.” Harry ground his teeth, soaking in his own frustration. “I’ll figure something out if it comes to that but it won’t. They’ll convict him.”

Gylda looked unperturbed by her boss’ terse tone. To be fair, she was unperturbed by most things. Her game face had been the downfall of many a suspect who underestimated the golden haired, pink cheeked, youthful looking witch. “You’d be pleased with Navi,” she said instead, changing tracks so quickly Harry blinked in confusion.

“I’m always pleased with Navi.” Harry said dismissively.

“She’s taken to going through the case file every second she gets, looking for something she missed.”

Harry let out a sigh. “She puts the rest of us to shame.”

“She also nearly hexed Haider’s new moustache off yesterday.”

“I’m nearly always pleased with Navi.” He corrected himself, then paused. “Haider has a moustache?”

Gylda’s brows raised a fraction. “It’s given him a rather _wizard at the end of his rope with nothing left to lose_ sort of look.”

Harry snorted. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

“The current theory is hair potions.” She hummed. “Of course, maybe that’s just what he looks like when he gets so caught up he forgets to check the mirror.” At his questioning glance, she continued, breezily: “He’s been going through the case every second Navi isn’t looking at it and trying to make them share is like giving a mouse to a two headed adder so…” Gylda drifted off with a _what-can-you-do_ sort of head tilt.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You must have other cases. Whittaker must’ve assigned someone to watch you.”

“As if they’d deign to accept a new babysitter.” She rolled her eyes but despite the mockery in her voice, it rang true all the same. What a fine, stubborn squad of Aurors he’d raised.

He glanced over at his colleague with a scrutinising eye. “How are they holding up? Really?”

Gylda finally sighed, her stoic façade cracking slightly. “Things are tense.” She said, simply. “They’re frustrated. If Zhao hadn’t specifically issued an order to ignore the press, they’d have hosted a dozen interviews decrying your innocence by now.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Merlin help us all.”

Gylda hummed in agreement. “Lang’s written several letters to the editor in protest.” She paused, thoughtfully. “One of them may have been a Howler, actually.”

Harry felt a tiny smile wriggle onto his face despite his best efforts. A fine squad, indeed. “No interviews for you though?”

The witch outright snorted. “I watched you hex him, sir. I know you’re not innocent.”

“I was provoked.” Harry said, only half joking.

Gylda turned to look him full in the face, her eyes alert. “Yes. You were. You know that right?”

The words seemed to roll out between the two of them, heavy and waiting. He let out a noisy breath, shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing I can prove.” He finally said.

“Look, I’m sure Talbins was caught up in having his own little moment, bullying a ten year old _child_ ,” Gylda sneered before continuing in a flat tone: “But you know Tiltenhaus put him up to it and he wasn’t trying to break Sasha, he was trying to get the case thrown out. He was baiting _you_.”

“And it worked.” Harry said bleakly. He scuffed his shoe against the sidewalk. “I should’ve known better.”

“Sir, they literally pressed every single button you famously have.” Gylda pointed out. “And Talbins _did_ point his wand at Sasha, whether he intended to or not.”

If Harry closed his eyes, he could see it so clearly in his head, exactly as Gylda said: the wand pointed at Sasha, her face quivering, wet with tears and so small, so much smaller than Talbins and all that time her father is _just sitting there_ -

“I should’ve known better.” He repeated anyway, his voice tight. “I am sorry to leave you all in a state though.”

Gylda waved a hand, blithely. “Don’t worry. I make sure they all brush their teeth and go to bed on time. Though if I catch Navi sleeping at her desk one more time…”

“Now, now Gros,” Harry smirked. “You mustn’t play favourites.”

The blonde scowled, a faint blush just visible on the apples of her cheeks. “Piss off.” She grumbled as she began to walk away, preparing to Apparate back into the mess Harry had made for them all no doubt. “Just for that, I’m telling Haider you like his new look.”

“I’m eager to hear if he grows a beard to match.” He called out after her.

“You’ll see it soon enough.” Gylda remarked, casting Harry one last glance – this time, oddly reassuring, as though she were making him a promise - before twisting on the spot and vanishing away.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes im still alive and barely clinging to combined threads of my sanity, grip on reality and patience, tune in for more <3
> 
> also um i know it's not cool to love your own ocs but i love my ocs
> 
> also also fuck jkr's terf bullshit


	10. I THOUGHT THE CHICKEN WAS EXCELLENT

TEN.

I THOUGHT THE CHICKEN WAS EXCELLENT

When Harry turned up at Keller Circle that evening, his heart wasn’t really in it.

His mind was still stuck on his promise to Sasha, on how he could keep her out of the hands of her father even if the case did fall through. His own guilt gnawed at his stomach: he’d made the situation they all now faced and in the same breath, he’d excluded himself from helping to fix it. He couldn’t attend the trial in support of Sasha, he could barely walk outside his apartment without being hounded by reporters, and although others might have appeared confident, he was still, technically, suspended. To put it mildly, things were not looking in his favour.

All the same, Harry tried to shake off his concerns as he knocked on Dudley’s door twice. The tiny dragon Nullifying Knickknack was tucked in his cloak pocket, as well as clear instructions he’d written for Dudley in the simplest of terms: _hang over crib. Do not touch._

Even Dudley couldn’t get it wrong.

He waited a few moments but as the seconds ticked past, his impatience grew. It was just before seven o’clock; not exactly visiting hours but certainly not late enough that they should all be asleep, surely? He was in the middle of wondering if he could get away with leaving it in the letter box when the door cracked open a few inches.

“What’re you doing here?” Dudley demanded, his face paler than usual.

Harry restrained an eye roll. Another warm welcome. What else was he expecting? “I have something. For Clementine.”

Dudley swallowed, glancing back over his shoulder nervously. “Now’s not a good time, come back later-”

“Dudley? Who’s at the door, love?” a cheery voice called.

Harry raised a brow as his cousin visibly shuddered. “You know she’s already met me right?”

“It’s not that, it’s-” Dudley started but before he could finish, Karen had appeared, swinging the door open fully. She was a little more dressed up than his last visit, in a modest pale blue shirt and skirt combo. The strand of pearls at her neck reminded him eerily of his Aunt Petunia.

“Oh, it’s Harry, right?” she said, with a slight furrow to her brow as she matched his face to a name. She too appeared tense, though she covered it better. “What a lovely surprise.”

He flashed her a tight smile. “Sorry to bother you Karen, I just had something to give Dudley, just a little memento from the old days, you know.”

“How kind of you!” Karen trilled, though she too glanced over her shoulder. _Clementine acting up again?_ Harry wondered but he couldn’t hear any giggles or crying. “Have you eaten yet? We’re just sitting down-”

“ _No!_ ” Dudley choked, his gaze whipping back and forth between his wife and his cousin. “No, Harry can’t.”

But unlike his earlier visit, Karen’s smile tightened a fraction too far to be natural. “Dudley, don’t be rude.”

“He. _Can’t_.” Dudley repeated, his teeth gritted though he didn’t sound angry. Perhaps just pleading.

“I _insist._ ” She snapped back.

Harry wondered what sort of domestic spat he’d unwittingly stumbled upon. Whatever it was, it seemed Karen was winning.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Harry blustered, awkwardly. “I have, er…my parrot you see…Millicent-”

“I thought her name was Mildred.” Karen’s smile was now so tight it looked like her jaw had been wired that way. “You really must stay for dinner.”

“He really _mustn’t-”_

“Oh he simply _must-!”_

Dudley’s protest was in vain. In one smooth move, Karen had pried the door from her husband’s meaty grip, swung it open and began ushering Harry inside, directing him to the coat closet for his, er, cloak and the dining room is just through here-

Harry froze.

So did Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

“Harry, I’m sure you know Dudley’s parents,” Karen introduced, cheerily as she followed behind him. Dudley loomed behind her, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere but there.

“Harry.” Aunt Petunia acknowledged, faintly. Within moments, she’d turned three shades whiter.

Uncle Vernon meanwhile had turned three shades more purple. His moustache, now threaded with bristly silver hairs, quivered. “Potter? What in the devil are you-?”

“Karen invited Harry for tea.” Dudley said, miserably.

“Yes, well, any old friend of Dudley’s is welcome, of course!” Karen said breezily, quickly gathering together an extra place setting and seat.

Harry sincerely considered Apparating on the spot. “Vernon. Petunia.” He greeted, stiffly. He meant to say _Lovely to see you again_ but the lie just wouldn’t quite slip off his tongue.

“Old friend.” Petunia echoed Karen, eyes quickly flitting between her daughter-in-law and disgraced nephew.

Harry realised with a jolt as he took stock of the room that Karen was the only one who had no idea who he was. And it seemed the Dursleys were desperate to keep it that way.

“Yes,” Aunt Petunia said slowly, calculatingly. She narrowed her gaze at Harry. “Harry is an old friend of Dudley’s. From Little Whinging.”

“Wha-?” Vernon began to bluster but Aunt Petunia must have dug something sharp into her husband’s side (Harry placed his bets on those bony elbows of hers) because he shut up quickly, similarly taking stock of the situation. His veiny face began to loose some of its raspberry hue. “Yes, of course. Harry. Good to…see you again then. Boy.”

In an act of unsuspecting cruelty, Karen had positioned Harry at the head of the table, with Karen and Dudley on his left and his aunt and uncle on his right. Surrounded by Dursleys, with no escape. What a way to bring back memories.

“Would you care for some wine, Harry?” Karen asked, brightly, already holding the bottle out.

Aunt Petunia raised an eyebrow, her mouth curled into a sneer. “Karen, really, why don’t you go get the bottle we brought, that merlot isn’t suited to chicken.”

Karen’s smile dimmed slightly but Harry, who was not much of wine drinker normally, didn’t flinch. “I’d love some, Karen, thanks.” In lieu of offering his glass, he took the bottle from her hands to pour his own.

“I know I have mentioned it before but Dudley prefers red meat, Karen, it suits his constitution better.” Petunia offered her usual unsolicited commentary.

“Mum, chicken is fine.” Dudley said, tiredly.

“I hope chicken is alright, Harry.” Karen said, in a tone that suggested he ought to keep his comments to himself if it wasn’t.

“Er, it’s good.” Harry said, wondering why he could speak calmly with murderers, Ministers, wizards and witches from all walks of life but a five foot three blonde Muggle in pearls had him completely flustered.

Petunia continued as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “I’ll bring round my beef casserole this weekend for you, darling, I know it’s your favourite.” She informed Dudley, warmly.

Dudley sighed in defeat. “Thanks Mum.”

“So how did you know Dudley, Harry? School was it?” Karen changed the subject with no attempt at finesse.

Vernon’s cutlery clattered to his plate. All eyes snapped toward the Muggle man who harrumphed under his breath but did not explain himself further.

Harry and Dudley exchanged a rare look of mutual consternation. “No, we just lived in the same area.” Harry said, lightly as he glanced toward his uncle who was cutting into his chicken with laser like focus. He couldn’t help himself, adding: “Sometimes I was around so much it’s like I lived there myself.”

Vernon sawed at the chicken like cracking it open might reveal a hidden exit from the situation.

“Karen, where are the dishes we bought you and Dudley for your wedding?” Aunt Petunia cut in, inspecting her plate.

Karen coughed. “Er, well, we don’t get those out for every day Petunia, they’re far too nice.”

“Nonsense, isn’t a dinner party with your in-laws a special enough occasion?” Petunia demanded, rising from her seat. “Never mind, I’ll go find them-”

“Oh, Petunia, really, they’re packed away-” Karen rose immediately, following after her mother-in-law on a mission.

As they left the room, Vernon leaned in immediately, gripping his knife fiercely. “You listen to me, Potter,” he spat under his breath. “I won’t have you revealing all your funny business in front of Dudley’s family, I won’t have them _embarrassed,_ not like you-”

“ _Dad, would you shut up?”_ Dudley hissed. “Karen’s going to hear you!”

“What, embarrassed you?” Harry cut in smoothly. He took another sip of wine and casually set his wand on the table beside him. The sight stilled Vernon and Dudley immediately. “Never fear, Vernon, I won’t be here long.”

Petunia emerged at that moment, guided back to the table by a harried Karen. “-just don’t know why you’d leave them in the attic, it’s not a sensible place to put them.” She was complaining.

“I told you Petunia, it’s so we don’t accidentally break them, you know with Clemmie up and about, getting her hands on everything.” Karen babbled as she took her seat once more. Harry wordlessly passed the bottle of wine back down the table.

“I would hope you were raising Clementine to treat your home more carefully, Karen.” Petunia sniffed.

Karen’s smile took on that brittle quality again. “She’s just at that age, I suppose.”

“Dudley was never so destructive that we had to put away the fine china.” Petunia shot back, clearly sulking.

“Oh so I suppose the kitchen window broke itself when we were six then did it?” Harry commented, unthinkingly.

“Dudley was a vigorous child.” Petunia said tightly, in the tone of a woman who had spent many years defending her son’s poor behaviour.

“He threw his shoe directly at it.”

“Robust play is a sign of early leadership qualities.”

The son in question grimaced. “Shut _up_ Harry.”

Karen blinked. “Goodness, it sounds as though you’ve known the Dursleys for a very long time, Harry.”

Harry smiled, enjoying the way Dudley squirmed. “Oh it feels like they practically raised me. Doesn’t it, Duddikins?”

Dudley let out a noisy breath through his nostrils as Karen giggled at the nickname. “Tell me, what was Dudley like as a teenager?” she asked, clearly pleased to get the conversation off the in depth critique of her parenting.

“A fine, strapping young man.” Vernon pronounced, loudly as though that ought to end the discussion.

“I went to boarding school actually,” Harry replied, ignoring his uncle. His wand was still at the table but so far Karen had yet to notice it. “So I only really saw him on the holidays.”

“And your parents, are they from Surrey as well?” she asked, politely.

Harry coughed. “They died when I was a baby actually.”

“Oh, bu-I- I’m sorry,” Karen said immediately, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t mean-”

“Karen, it’s impolite to needle guests about dead family members at the table.” Petunia huffed.

The muggle woman looked chastened. “Of course, I’m sorry to bring it up, Harry.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Harry levelled a stare at Aunt Petunia. “How could you?” _It’s only your husband’s aunt and uncle, after all. Why should you know?_

“It must’ve been lovely then, having Dudley as such a close friend,” Karen said, desperately trying to save the conversation. “Almost like having a brother in a way?”

Vernon’s fist hit the table with a _slam!_ Clearly the suggestion of Harry as family was too much. “My son and that boy were not _brothers_.” Vernon growled.

“Perish the thought.” Harry drawled back, feeling his hackles raise in anticipation.

“I won’t have you slithering your way into this family again, Potter.” Vernon continued in a loud, grumbling tone, fists waving about like a child in the height of a tantrum.

(But Harry wasn’t seven years old any more. Those fists couldn’t touch him now.)

“That’s what brought us to this mess in the first place!” Vernon continued, rising from his seat.

“ _Vernon-_ ” Aunt Petunia tried in vain to silence her husband while Karen looked on in utter confusion.

“No, no, let him speak,” Harry cut in, silkily. He finished his glass of wine and stood from the table to meet his uncle’s challenge. “I’d love to hear what Uncle Vernon has to say.”

“Uncle…?” Karen echoed, bewildered.

“You ungrateful brat,” Vernon snarled. “We gave you a home, fed you, clothed you and all you did was bring trouble to our door!”

“You gave me a cupboard to live in while I took care of your house, your cleaning and your cooking, Vernon.” He shouted back instead, the anger in his gut ballooning the more he fed it. He felt positively swollen with it. “I was one step up from a live-in maid service.”

“What an exaggeration!” Petunia scoffed. “All we did was try to teach you some personal responsibility!”

Vernon snorted. “Lord knows, those wastrel parents of yours wouldn’t have known a thing about that-”

Two swift steps towards the vermillion cheeked man was enough to shut him up. Harry outstripped Vernon in height by a solid foot and a half. He imagined he now loomed large the same way Vernon had once loomed over him.

“You keep my parents out of your mouth.” Harry said in a quiet, deathly calm voice. “My parents were heroes. And it’s only out of respect for my mum that I even bothered to answer your wife and your son when they came to _me_ asking for help.”

“What help could you _possibly_ provide, _Potter_?” Vernon sneered, desperately trying to conceal the way he’d lost ground when Harry approached. “All you’ve ever done was spit our generosity back in our faces!”

“Generosity?” Harry roared back with such fury that Vernon fell back against his chair. “You made every single day in that house a _fucking_ nightmare. I’ve spent time in literal _dungeons_ I’d have preferred to live in than spend one more _second_ under your roof!”

“ _Harry, shut up-”_ Dudley shouted, frantically. “Karen, please, I-”

“We should’ve left you on the street, where you and your kind belong!” Vernon bellowed back.

“I think you mean _your kind_ now Vernon.” Harry snapped, enjoying the way Vernon’s eyes bulged. “More witches in the family, what a disappointment for you.”

“ _Harry Potter, don’t you dare!_ ” Petunia shrieked.

Harry ignored her. “But then again, maybe you’ll be able to beat it out of Clementine early. Merlin knows it didn’t work on me but second time’s lucky, right?”

Somewhere behind him, something crashed to the table.

Vernon shook a fat, sausage finger at him. “ _You watch yourself, Potter-“_

“No, I think I’ll watch you, Vernon.” He said, his voice back to the silky calm he’d used on suspects and criminals countless times. Harry took another step forward.

“You’ll- you- I-”

Harry ignored him. “I think I’ll watch you and how you treat that little girl very closely,” he continued, slowly, keeping his eyes on Vernon’s beady gaze. “And if I think you’re about to lay a single hand on her, I’ll have you thrown in the deepest, darkest pit I can think of for as long as you live.”

Vernon shuddered. “You lot can’t do anything to me,” he said, with a forceful, hollow kind of arrogance. “It’s in your laws not to hurt us regular folk, remember?”

Harry thought about Sasha and Tiltenhaus and the case. He thought about how he sometimes woke up in the bathtub after a hard case, chasing the narrow confines of his childhood bedroom under the stairs.

He thought about bars on his window and practising his holiday homework under his covers, he thought about walking three steps behind Aunt Petunia and Dudley at the grocery store, pretending she didn’t know him. He thought about Dudley holding his head in the toilet at school and telling his friends it was okay because his parents wouldn’t care as long as it was _Harry_. He thought about Vernon telling him it was just as well they’d taken him, because his parents had been useless, despicable, unfit for society.

Harry thought about all this and then he waited until he had his aunt and uncle’s full attention. He caught Dudley’s eyes too, for good measure.

“You all ought to think very carefully about what laws I’d be willing to break to keep another child from growing up like I did.” He said slowly.

Then he whipped his wand in a fierce motion, Summoning his cloak from the closet. He ignored the gasps as it settled about his shoulders.

Harry turned to Karen, who had simply frozen in place with a look of complete shock. “Thank you for dinner, Karen. I thought the chicken was excellent.” He remarked, with a last spiteful look towards his aunt.

And then Harry did as he had always wished he’d been able to and magically vanished from the Dursley’s presence in the blink of an eye.

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry uses Apparating like the rest of us would use a mic drop.


	11. SIX WEEKS EARLIER (I)

ELEVEN.

SIX WEEKS EARLIER

**I**

The party of wizards had been settled into the corner booths at the Leaky Cauldron for the past two hours. They were a drunk but joyous sort, although any who chanced to peer closer could be sure that there was certainly some magic afoot which meant all who noticed their jubilant merrymaking were immediately drawn to focus elsewhere.

Although, Harry was frankly uncertain how long his spellwork would hold considering they had evidently moved on to the performing portion of the evening.

“ _For he’s a jolly good wizard! For he’s a jolly good wizard!_ ” they roared, arms looped around the wizard in question’s neck as he tried desperately to hide his face. The remainder of the group cheered and applauded loudly, egging them on further.

“Merlin make it stop.” The wizard moaned miserably.

Unsympathetic, Ron only laughed. “Oh perk up Neville, they’re only teasing.”

“ _For he’s a jolly good_ _wi-iz-ard_!” the group bellowed back, undeterred. “ _And so say all of us!_ ”

“Oh finally.” Neville sighed with relief.

Harry was only slightly apologetic when the second chorus began (“ _And so say all of us! And so say all of us!”_ ) but he nudged his friend with another Butterbeer all the same.

“You couldn’t expect to leave without a proper farewell, mate.” He said with a shrug. “You should’ve expected this.”

“We’re never going to be allowed back.” Neville sighed, glancing over to the bar.

Ron snorted into his beer. “I think Hannah would make an exception for you.”

“- _And so say all of us!”_ Dean, Ginny and Seamus finally sank back in their seats, uproarious with laughter. The rest of the tables applauded wildly, their laughter quickly dissolving into conversation.

Ginny shimmied out of her side of the booth to sit beside her boyfriend and steal a sip of his drink. Her hair glinted in the firelight. “Well at least I’ll have a back up plan if Quidditch doesn’t work out.” She announced.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Bit early to change your name to Celestina Warbeck, Gin.”

She nudged Harry pointedly. “Oh yeah? And what do you have to say about my dulcet tones?”

“I’ll let you know when my ears stop ringing.” Harry replied, wryly. “And if you wanted a drink, I could just get you one, you know.”

Ginny snickered. “More fun taking yours.” Spying Neville’s wandering gaze, she sighed. “Oh Neville, why don’t you just go talk to her?”

He coughed, sharply. “Talk to who, I don’t- there’s no one I’m talking to, I’m- I’m talking to you.” he stammered, steadfastly refusing to look over at the bar. “Shut up.”

“But you’ll be gone for months!” Ginny threw up her hands, exasperated.

“Two months.” Neville corrected, crisply. “And I have to go, it’s the only way to finish the certification for my apprenticeship and Professor Sprout put in a word with the Brazilian Botany Association for this incredible study-”

“Who knows what could happen by the time you get back!” Ginny continued, dramatically.

“Stop it!” Neville insisted. “It’s nothing!”

“I don’t know, a lot can happen in two months.” Ron mused, idly.

Neville cast them both exasperated looks. “You two are the worst. Just leave it, Gin.”

Sensing her friend was in no mood to be persuaded, Ginny simply caught eyes with Ron and they shrugged in a _I tried_ sort of way. Settling back in beside Harry, Ginny frowned. “Are you alright?” she asked in a low voice. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

He smiled, half-heartedly. “Just thinking about today, that’s all.”

“The case with the missing banker right?” Ginny’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Well, the murdered banker now, we’re pretty sure.” After a quick glance about at the other tables, Harry continued. “I met with his daughter again today.”

“The banker’s?”

“No, my main suspect.”

“Oh?” Ginny asked, curiously. “What for?”

“She persuaded her tutor to bring her in to the office.” He thumbed the condensation on the side of his beer. “As soon as she sat down, she says her dad did it. Killed them, I mean. Says she saw the whole thing.”

“And this isn’t a good thing?” Ginny said, uncertainly.

Harry took a sip. “She’s ten.”

“Godric, the poor girl.” Ginny said, sombrely. “So what happens now?” she wondered aloud.

“Ordinarily, we’d arrest him.”

“Ordinarily…?” Ginny repeated, probingly. Harry threw her a weary look and her expression dropped from confusion to disdain faster than a Seeker following a Snitch. “Bridewell? _Again_?” She let out a slight growl of frustration. “Merlin, the man’s a pest.”

“A pest who controls the warrants across the entire department.” Harry agreed, flatly.

Overhearing the conversation, Ron turned his attention to the pair. “I thought you said Bridewell granted the Tiltenhaus warrant?” he said, tapping on his pint glass with his index finger. It began to refill immediately.

“On a conditional basis.” Harry replied, flatly. “Limited to the yard and outer perimeter, so anything found inside the house is void.”

Ron grimaced, though Ginny appeared confused. “Isn’t that something though? The Department Analysts aren’t that bad, surely.”

“Their detection spells work better in dwellings.” Ron explained with a scowl. “Not to mention, defence counsellors are always keen to throw that sort of evidence out as circumstantial.”

“Besides, everything we have on Tiltenhaus suggests whatever he did, it happened _inside_ the house.” Harry leaned back in his seat with a thump.

“Did the girl say that? The suspect’s daughter, I mean?” said Ginny.

Harry tilted his head. “Sort of. Navi rustled up a few neighbours who saw two figures matching Marrows and Belgrave’s description approach the house that night but it’s not conclusive. They also reported seeing a few odd lights, but no loud noises. Thought nothing of it at the time.”

“Silencing Charms on the house,” Ron said, thoughtfully. “You think it was premeditated?”

He shrugged back at his old partner. “I think Tiltenhaus is careful enough to keep his crime scene contained. The house was perfectly put together when Navi and I went. Not a thing out of place.”

“Not so contained if his daughter saw the whole thing.” Ginny retorted.

Harry winced. “Well, Sasha’s testimony is pretty scattered. We think he might’ve used some sort of memory charm on her.”

“On his own daughter?” Ron scowled. “Bastard.”

“That’s horrible!” Ginny said, outraged. “If that’s the case, why didn’t Bridewell grant a full warrant?”

“Conditional warrants are meant to be less intrusive, so suspects don’t gain grounds for counterclaims over invasion of privacy and property if the analysts don’t find anything.” Ron sighed, moodily. “It means he doesn’t think they’ll turn anything up.”

_It means he doesn’t believe her._ Harry sipped his drink. “Pretty much.”

His head ached, all the cogs still grinding madly even though he’d been out of the office for hours. Sitting across from Sasha Tiltenhaus with Navita, listening to the little girl try to string her memories together, was harrowing. He couldn’t get her enormous eyes out of his head. She’d looked scared but somehow resigned. As though she’d already decided they would let her down. Harry wondered how many adults in her life already had.

This case was starting to get to him, the deeper he sank into it. Technically, Navita was still lead but he’d been helping her out, going through her notes and sitting in on interviews. She’d been even less pleased about the conditional warrant than he had.

Between the two of them and Sasha’s statement, the case had emerged, from circumstantial evidence, witness statements and spell trails. It told the story of the last hours of Boris Belgrave and Leonie Marrows lives and led to two, infuriating conclusions:

The first: Wilbur Tiltenhaus murdered two people in front of his own child.

The second: he was about to get away with it.

Harry had done his best to shake these conclusions off for his friend’s farewell but it lingered, sticky and odious.

“Bloody bad luck, Vashnakov kicking it when he did.” Ron mused. “He’d have been all over this sort of thing.”

“Very rude of him.” Ginny agreed and the pair clinked their bottles together in grim reverence.

Harry couldn’t help but agree. When Ezra Vashnakov passed away unexpectedly last year, the entire department had been in a state of panic. The Head Auror had not left an immediate, obvious successor and Harry personally wondered whether Rebecca Zhao, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, might take the role, although that then of course led to the question of who might take _her_ job.

Head Auror was as much a position of power as it was political. Various candidates vied for consideration, factionalising the Department between teams, making it almost impossible to work. Harry had been approached and harassed by dozens of memos, owls and outright nosy Aurors, asking if he’d consider making a pledge or endorsing one candidate over another.

(Several had asked if he’d considered running himself. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered what it would be like as Head Auror. He’d be the youngest in history. In the end, he’d decided it was a fleeting thought, nothing more and had forcefully put those rumours to rest.)

There had been about a week’s worth of muddled, panicked mess, at the end of which the absurd bureaucracy of the Ministry kicked in, appointing a neutral interim Head while the whole palaver was figured out. Which was how they’d been saddled with Edgar Bridewell, the dullest, most useless wizard alive.

“We have a team prepared to execute the warrant tomorrow.” Harry finally said, tiredly. “If the Analysts don’t turn anything up, Bridewell’s about ready to give up on the case.”

“What’ll happen to her?” Ginny asked, quietly.

“Department of Magical Wards and Foundlings will remove her to a temporary guardian while we investigate.” Harry said, not meeting her eyes. “But if we don’t find anything…”

At that moment, Neville who had recovered from his earlier embarrassment, emerged from conversation with Dean. He shuffled into the opposite side of the booth, noting the slightly sober mood with a confused frown. “What’s going on over here then?”

“Just discussing how terribly dull things around here will be with you off in South America.” Ron quickly replied, reaching over to clap the man’s back in a comradely sort of way.

“Of course,” Harry continued, grinning at his friend. “Who else will steer us away from the hallucinogenic properties of the Marble Mab Vine?”

Neville rolled his eyes. “That’s not a real thing.”

“You seemed to think it was last Wednesday.”

“I was refuting an article!” he complained.

“While drunk off your arse on Pixie Rum.” Ginny pointed out with a snort.

“It was shoddy authorship! They have no evidence that the Mab processes any substantial amount of scopolamine!” Neville continued, growing more fervent. “All it’s going to do is encourage some stupid twat to take a bite out of any old Mab he finds-”

“Are you telling the bite marks on my garden aren’t caterpillars after all, Longbottom?” Ron deadpanned.

“-which is ridiculous because Marble Mab Vines are famously known for their use in Ever Sleeping Draughts-!”

“Oh no, a pack of sleeping idiots with vine in their teeth, how ever will the department cope with such an influx?” Harry mused, conversationally. Ginny cackled.

Neville huffed, though the effect was ruined by his twitching smile. “This is the thanks I get for trying to teach you all something.”

“Well, I, for one, will certainly miss the weekly botany lessons.” Came a voice from behind them. Neville shot up from his seat so quickly, he nearly tipped the table and all the drinks upon it.

“Hannah!” he blurted out. “Hi! Hi, Hannah.”

Harry, who considered himself a good friend, did not laugh.

Ginny and Ron, who were by all accounts terrible friends, could barely contain their snickers.

The curly haired witch simply smiled back at them all. “Just seeing how you’re doing,” she said, kindly. “The Diversion Incantation seems to be holding up well. Nice work Harry.”

He cracked a wry smile. “Thanks, I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years.”

“Oh yeah, between that and _expelliarmus_ , you’re all set.” Ron said, idly.

“I know other spells!” Harry said, exasperated. “Ginny, tell your brother I know other spells.”

“I’ve never seen proof of that.” She said, crisply without blinking an eye. “You still light the stove with the knob.”

“It’s easier!”

“Easier? You’re a _literal wizard-_ “

"And where did Hermione get to tonight then?" Hannah said, obviously trying to get the conversation back on track. 

"She was a little out of sorts, didn't feel up to a big one." Ron replied, friendly as ever with a gentle smile he reserved solely for his better half. "Bit burnt out from work I think."

"Oh that's right, she mentioned something coming up soon last time you lot were by, some sort of project?" the blonde witch said thoughtfully.

"Ah yes, the coup." Ron said sagely but neglected to explain himself further.

“How...lovely. Right then, I’ll leave you to it.” Hannah said, a touch uncomfortably. After taking over as the proprietor of _The Leaky Cauldron,_ she’d become more and more familiar with their group since their Hogwarts days but she’d found it best never to test those limits too far.

(Privately, Hannah had always prided herself for having a good, sensible head on her shoulders and she’d always made sure she stayed out of whatever drama Harry Potter and his friends caught themselves up in, always causing such a _fuss_ every year, _right around_ exam time when things were _stressful enough-_ )

“Oh, before I forget, Ginny, there was an owl earlier, it left a note for you at the bar.” She added, casting Neville one last smile before departing.

Ginny sighed as she crawled out from the booth. “It’s probably from Jo.”

“Jo?” Ron echoed, confused.

“Harpies’ general manager.” Harry chimed in.

Ginny nodded with a withering eye roll. “We’re coordinating on the reserves’ training for camp. Merlin help her, she ought to be more concerned with getting stuck with Dorothea for eight weeks.” She added with a snort.

“Bye Hannah!” Neville finally said and then slumped into his seat, thumping his head against the table just as Ginny left. “Why,” he said slowly. “Am I like this?”

Ron patted his shoulder in a vaguely consoling matter. “I mean, and I could be wrong here, but have you tried just, you know, _talking_ to her?”

Neville scowled into the tabletop. “We do talk. About plants. I mean I’ve been helping her with her family’s estate. Did you know the Abbott Cottage has some of the oldest dragonsbreath fern in England-”

“Racy.” Ron quipped, dryly with a sip of his drink.

“But every time we talk about something else, it’s like my tongue goes numb.” Neville continued, frustrated.

Harry raised his brows. “Neville. If Hannah can listen to you talking about plants, I don’t think you have to worry about whether she’s keen on you.”

Neville’s head lifted a fraction. “You think?”

Ron clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Mate, you’re a really great friend and it’s great that you’ve found something you’re passionate about. But I would not listen to you talk about root patterns and worm compost for longer than ten minutes.”

“Really?”

“At most.” Ron emphasised, solemnly.

Harry put his beer aside. “Look, you’ll be gone for what, two months?”

Neville nodded, absently. He was peering at the bar again where Hannah was busily organising her staff and tending to her patrons. “The study follows two lunar phases, back to back to analyse the process of photosynthesis in lunar lumen-responsive plants-”

“Neville, I take it back, I can’t listen to longer than a minute.” Ron interjected with a groan.

“Don’t you want to know, either way, before you leave?” Harry continued anyway.

“Two months. Lot can happen. Yeah. Yes.” Neville finished his drink and nodded, firmly. “Right then.”

“Off he goes.” Ron said, watching the wizard manoeuvre through the tables to the bar.

“Professor Longbottom in the making.” Harry agreed, as Ginny suddenly re-joined the table, looking shocked. “Ginny? You alright?”

“Louise just signed a deal with the Catapults.” She blurted out.

Ron nearly spat his beer. “ _McGregor?_ But she’s captained the Harpies for years! _”_

“Jo just found out.” Ginny looked up at him stunned. “I had no idea she was even thinking of leaving.”

Harry winced. “Merlin, that’s awful, Gin I’m so sorry.”

“Blimey, so who’s taking over then?” Ron said. “Dia Munroe is vice, isn’t she? She’s not too bad. Good defender.”

“Well that’s the thing,” She said slowly. “Dia doesn’t want captaincy.”

“Wait, what?” Harry’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Her arm is fucked from last season,” Ginny explained, bluntly. “She was planning on taking leave this year for some sort of treatment plan in Madagascar. Her girlfriend has an OT contact there apparently.”

“So…if Dia’s not stepping up as captain, who is?” Ron wondered aloud.

“Well, apparently…me.” Ginny said, her expression caught between shock and ecstatic joy.

_“Holy sh-!”_

Harry was out of his seat and hoisting her into his arms before Ron could finish his sentence. He spun her about while she cackled with joy.

He set her down and squeezed her tight, overcome with excitement for her. She’d been working like a dog since joining the Holyhead Harpies but to see her talents recognised was just incredible. “Of course, you are, you’re amazing,” he told her quietly. “They should be so fucking lucky to have you as captain.”

“It hinges on the camp,” she explained, her excitement winning out in her voice. “Like a trial but Jo says if it goes well, I’d be up for election before the new season!” Ginny nearly shrieked, almost vibrating with happiness. “I mean, I’ll be gone for eight weeks not five, and I’ll be in planning and strategy meetings but-”

“Ginny, this is your shot at _captaincy_! You have to go!” Harry cut in, insistent.

“I know! I just-!” she let out a noisy breath. “My head’s all over the place. I can’t believe it and you know, it’s awful news about Louise but-”

“You’re twice the Chaser she is.” Harry interrupted. “And you’ve more than earned this.”

She laughed, staring at him with love in her eyes. “I’m away, Neville’s gone, it’ll just be you and this joker,” she jerked a thumb at Ron who squawked (“ _I’m the one buying you a bloody celebration drink!_ ”). “Who knows what trouble you’ll get in to?”

Harry waved a hand, breezily. “It’s only a few weeks,” he shrugged, as the good news began to spread to the rest of their group, mainly due to Ron ( _“My sister, captain for the Harpies!”_ ). “What could go wrong?”

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bangs pots and pans together* I LOVE NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM.


	12. FIVE WEEKS AND SIX DAYS EARLIER (II)

TWELVE.  
FIVE WEEKS AND SIX DAYS EARLIER  
II

Despite the overwhelming urge to rub his forehead, Harry forcibly kept his arms crossed, even as the second wizard from the Analysis and Abstraction Team appeared from the back garden with a shake of his head.

He could feel eyes on him: Navita Khatri, who buzzed anxiously by his side, the rest of his squad, the Hit Wizard team who was on site to restrain Tiltenhaus should he prove hostile, even the man himself.

But it wouldn’t do to show any signs of concern. Not yet at least.

Any joy he’d had from the night before had left him the moment he woke. He’d done his best not to rain on Ginny’s parade so to speak but she seemed to sense his anticipation all the same. He’d coordinated the arrest with his team prior but even the small burst of pride at seeing them Apparate into Myrtlebeak early that morning (ready for action, game faces on, wands at their sides) could not soothe him entirely.

“That’s not good.” Gylda Gros appeared on the opposite of Khatri, who jumped a little at her approach.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “It’s too early. Everyone knows the preliminary detection spells never pick up anything useful.”

“They’re on secondary spells now.” Khatri pointed out, needlessly. Her voice, deep and ever so slightly husky, was fraught with tension. She seemed determined to ignore Tiltenhaus, eyes fixed on their would-be crime scene. Their warrant, signed and sealed by Bridewell himself, was now mildly crumpled in her grip. She’d been the one to serve Tiltenhaus that morning when they’d arrived on the doorstep of the Tiltenhaus home (“ _Mr Tiltenhaus, we have a warrant to search your property. Please step aside.”_ ), and despite her age, she’d cut an impressive and intimidating figure

But as the third hour dragged on, the tension in her spine wound ever tighter the longer they went without results.

“Harry’s right, it’s too early to tell.” Gros said quietly to her colleague. “They’re not nearly finished yet.” He’d assigned her to coordinate and supervise the various teams on site and she’d taken to it with ruthless aplomb. But it had been almost three hours now and with the Analysists working through their wards and spells, and the Hit Wizards on stand by, even Gylda was struggling to find tasks to keep busy.

“They should have found something by now, surely.” Khatri hissed back, anxiously. “Why haven’t they found anything?”

“Because real crime scenes aren’t like they are in the novels.” Harry replied, bluntly. “And Tiltenhaus is an accomplished wizard. He’s more than capable of cleaning up his own mess.”

“So there’s just nothing to find?” she demanded, heatedly. Harry allowed it. This was her first major case and it had just about chewed through every nerve she had. “Then what’s even the _point?_ ”

“The point, Khatri,” Harry interrupted, coolly eying Mr Tiltenhaus who looked rather unfazed by his circumstances. “is that we’re betting more on his arrogance than his skill.”

Tiltenhaus caught his gaze placidly but Harry refused to give the wizard the pleasure of seeing them squirm. Greater wizards and witches had tried; Harry had long since mastered his poker face in response. Internally, his gut felt caught between rising agitation and creeping dread. While Navi served the warrant and Gylda supervised set up, he’d taken the lead in removing Sasha from the house.

It was standard protocol to remove children and dependants from the immediate vicinity before analysis but Harry had gone a step further and arranged to have her taken directly into custody of the Department of Magical Wards and Foundlings. It was the only moment Tiltenhaus showed the slightest shred of anxiety.

“You have no right to take my daughter anywhere.” He’d snarled, scowling as Harry guided Sasha away. “I am her father.”

“We have a responsibility to remove your daughter from an active crime scene.” Harry corrected, gently moving the girl out of sight. She’d been positively breathless to see him, her eyes larger in her pale little face than he’d ever seen.

“Alleged crime scene.” Tiltenhaus corrected, coldly. Then, in a voice sweet as tears, he added: “Never fear, _liebling_. Papa will come for you soon.”

Behind him, Sasha’s uneven breaths stopped entirely.

His chest felt suddenly full of fire. “That’s enough, Mr Tiltenhaus. Sasha, it’s time to go, come on.” Her hand was completely limp in his until they’d left the house, passing the Hit Wizard team on their way in to clear the site of other persons.

She was practically dead weight as they left, Harry guiding her past his team and the Analysis department who had begun to set up their testing kits. It wasn’t until they’d left the premises that Sasha finally spoke, her voice high and quivering: “I don’t-”

And then she’d puked right then and there. Her body shook. Her eyes filled with tears, a high pitched whine erupting from her mouth like a siren. Godric, she was _ten_ years old.

“He will kill me,” she gasped, eyes red, nose dripping as though every part of her body had been delaying its terrified reaction until the precise same moment. “He is going to kill me-”

“Sasha, hey, it’s okay,” Harry soothed, waving off the Magical Wards official who tried to approach. He crouched next to her, Vanishing the sick from her jumper with a wave of his wand. “It’s okay, just take a breath, that’s it.”

“He is going to kill me, just like that lady!” she wailed, hysterically.

“Sasha, that’s not going to happen.” Harry said, in a voice that was more firm than kindly because he knew firsthand that sweetness and platitudes didn’t do much in the wake of fear like this. “I won’t let it happen.”

“It will!” her sobs continued.

“Auror Potter, perhaps I should…?” the witch with the Wards office began to suggest. He ignored her.

“It won’t.” Harry insisted. “Listen to me Sasha. He’s only strong because he frightens you. But he doesn’t frighten me.” Unbidden, the voice rose in his mind, reminiscent of a long ago memory. _That suggests that what you fear most of all is fear._ “He can’t.”

Sasha hiccupped, miserably. “He should.”

“But he doesn’t.” Harry repeated, slowly so he knew she’d heard him. Her wails subsided slowly. Her breaths came shakily but they came. “He can’t hurt you now. I’m going to make sure of it.” He flicked his eyes up at the Wards official as he stood. “Miss…?”

“Aster Fentley, Auror Potter. I’m Alexandra’s court appointed guardian.” She introduced, quickly reaching out.

Harry ignored the outstretched hand. “Miss Fentley, I want you to take her directly to the guardian home, understand? She is not to be put in the custody of her father under any circumstances.”

The witch looked a little uncomfortable at that. “Auror Potter, Mr Tiltenhaus has not yet been formally charged. This is highly unusual.”

“It’s not a usual case.” Harry replied, bluntly.

She frowned. “He has parental rights to his own child.”

He felt his grip on his frustration start to slip. “And he has clearly violated those rights, Miss Fentley. So until you receive an order signed by Merlin himself, you are not to release Sasha into Wilbur Tiltenhaus’ custody. Even then, you will confirm with myself first. Am I understood?”

Fentley finally nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Harry watched as Sasha reluctantly moved to the witch’s side. “Also, her name is Sasha.” He added, glancing at her. Her mouth quirked slightly at that like he’d hoped.

Once they’d Apparated away, Harry returned to the scene to supervise the Analysis team, his expression flinty and cool. But with each negative test or spell application, the tension around him ratcheted higher. He’d promised Sasha she was done living in fear from her father but how long could he keep that promise if they couldn’t find the evidence to send Tiltenhaus to Azkaban? His sway as the Saviour of the Wizarding World was strong but even he doubted it extended to unlawfully separating an uncharged father from his child.

A third Analyst returned to their set up site with a potion vial, emptying something into a cauldron which burned bright blue. Another negative result.

“There has to be something.” Khatri repeated, furiously. “He can’t have cleaned it all up, Gylda! You heard the kind of spells he used on those people, there’s no way he cleaned it all up.”

Gros flicked her eyes at the Junior Auror, a hint of concern in them. Side by side, she appeared even shorter and lighter in comparison to Khatri’s striking height and dark skin but there was a mutual fierceness to their expressions. “You know that’s not how this works.” She hissed back.

“Enough. Both of you.” Harry ordered sharply.

Gros retracted her hand from Khatri’s shoulder, slipping back into the blank mask she’d perfected. “Yes sir.”

Khatri straightened her spine. “Yes sir.” She repeated, tersely.

Harry felt a slight twinge for berating his team when his own tension felt almost palpable. Khatri was only articulating out loud the same thoughts as the rest of them.

As if that weren’t enough, Haider appeared in the doorway to the house with a grim look. “Sir, they’ve finished their sweep of the back garden and veranda, right up to the boundary line.”

“Including the back exits?”

“Yes sir.”

“And?”

“Nothing, sir.” He said, scowling a little.

“What sort of wards are they using then?” Khatri sunk her claws into Haider. “Did you tell them to check the thresholds? The witness said he took the bodies out the back-”

“Of course I told them to check the threshold but the warrant doesn’t include so much as inch over the actual dwelling line!” Haider snapped, irritably. “Look, either he’s cleaned it up too well or nothing happened back there.”

“Of course something happened, Haider, two people are _dead._ ”

“Missing.” He corrected. “And if this was a crime scene, we’d know by now.”

Khatri scowled. “It _is_ a crime scene. Just because there’s no sign of it, doesn’t mean-”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“I s’pose you think his kid was just having a laugh then when she came into our offices?!” Khatri demanded.

"Of course not! But you're the one who said it looked like she might have been under some kind of memory charm! Maybe she's misremembering the details of what she saw."

"Careful Haider, you're definitely within nose-breaking distance." Gros cut in, icily.

“So now she’s misremembering it? What else did she misremember, I wonder? Maybe this is all just a bit of an overreaction.” Khatri seethed.

Haider's scowl broke at that. "Navi, you know that's not what I mean.” The wizard took a deep breath. "I'm not saying he’s not the right wizard, I’m just saying whatever you want to find, it’s not _here._ ”

Khatri’s expression darkened but Gros cut in before she could speak. “Haider, I swear to Merlin I will hex your bollocks to the back of the Hogwarts Express if you don’t get out of my face in the next five seconds.” She sounded almost bored by the prospect.

Haider gaped at her. “It’s not my fault they didn’t find anything!”

“Four seconds.”

“Enough!” Harry let out a sharp, impatient sigh through his nose. "Khatri, with me. Now. Gros, take Haider and check in with the Analysts.”

Khatri’s jaw almost twitched as they stepped aside. “Sir, I-”

“ _Muffliato._ ” A few wandering-eyed Hit Wizards looked away suddenly. “Navita, I know this case hasn’t been easy but save the bickering with Haider for the office. Not here in the field, in front of our suspect.” Harry said, firmly.

“I know. I apologise.” She replied, flatly.

“Look, if you need to excuse yourself, this is your chance.” He added, a touch gentler.

“I don’t need to walk away, I need to- I have to stay okay?” Khatri said, flatly.

“Not if you can’t keep yourself together.” Harry shot back. “Not just for the investigation but for your own sake.”

Khatri didn’t respond for a few moments then finally, she looked him square in the eye, the two of them at a height almost to the inch. “I know what it looks like when you let your personal feelings get in the way of what you have to do. That’s not what this is.”

“Navita, there’s no shame in admitting some cases hit closer to home than others.” Harry admitted.

She was quiet for a few long moments. “When my mum died, my dad wasn’t…he wasn’t in a place to take care of me. And my nan took custody and those years in her house, I…let’s just say, there was a lot of things I couldn’t do. Or be. It took my dad years to get me back. But it took years after that before I felt like I had someone on my side.” Her voice quivered slightly. “It shouldn’t take years for someone to look out for Sasha.”

“You’re not the only one looking out for her, Navita.” Harry promised.

“I know, sir but…you understand then? Why I can’t excuse myself?” she looked almost pleading.

“I do. I understand.” He let out a long sigh, staring up at the house again. They were nearing on four hours and no closer to any sort of answers. “I used to live in a house like this, you know.”

“In Myrtlebeak?”

“No, just,” he waved a hand. “It looked a lot like this.”

“Yeah,” Khatri finally said. “My nan’s did too. They don’t look so bad from the outside.”

“No, they don’t.” Harry agreed, tiredly. His gaze caught on the window to Sasha’s bedroom, which overlooked the west side of the property. The scene was just as picturesque as it had been the first time he’d arrived: a big window with pale pink curtains, the house painted tidily in white, the garden beautifully manicured. A line of short, lush green bushes with tiny gold veined flowers grew down the side of the house.

He frowned, something tickling at the edges of his brain. He excused himself from Khatri and headed towards Tiltenhaus, who had taken a seat between two Hit Wizards. He eyed the man carefully. “It really is a beautiful home you have, Mr Tiltenhaus.” He said, conversationally.

“It certainly was before you and your idiots trampled through it.” The man raised a single brow. “I shudder to see the kind of damage you have done to my gardens. That is where your warrant suggested you would do most of your…work.”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed noncommittally. “Sure is. Although I’d look into a new gardening service, if I were you.”

“You will forgive me if I do not take your advice, Mr Potter.” Tiltenhaus inclined his head a touch as though thoughtful. “Horticultural or otherwise. Your little display here has not left me particularly confident in your judgement.”

Harry nodded behind him, to the garden beds along the western side of the house. “I just mean your garden doesn’t really seem to be thriving all that much.”

Tiltenhaus glanced in the direction and shrugged. “Gold veined geraniums are a difficult species, even for experienced magical gardeners.” He remarked, uninterested. “But I fail to see what they have to do with your ransacking of my property.”

Harry hummed again, eyes studying the bushes directly below Sasha’s window, which seemed to be suffering more than their neighbours. “Odd though.”

“Odd?”

“Well, they’re growing just fine over there.” He gestured to the other bushes. “But not those ones. Just…odd. I guess.”

Tiltenhaus marvelled, “It really is fascinating to watch a grown wizard clasp at straws, Mr Potter. I will pass your criticisms on to the service, shall I? _Harry Potter finds your work sub par._ I am sure they will appropriately disappointed.”

“I mean, they must get the same sunlight.” Harry ignored him. “Same rain. Same tender, loving gardening service, I expect.” He walked towards the shrivelled bushes, slowly. Tiltenhaus tracked his every step. He crouched down, running a hand through the dirt. “Must be something in the soil, I guess.” They locked eyes and for a split second, Harry saw it: the tiniest glint in the very back of Tiltenhaus’ gaze. Was it worry? Smugness? Concern? Whatever it was, it was enough.

“Khatri.”

She joined his side in a moment “Yes sir?”

“Get the Analysis team. I want this area searched immediately.” Harry ordered, sharply.

“This area sir?” She frowned. “I thought the warrant was for the back garden.”

“It includes the yard and outer perimeter of the house.” He corrected. “Gros, coordinate moving whatever the Analysis and Abstractions team need to this location. Haider, you’re supervising evidence, I want everything they find logged and sealed like the Minister himself was watching you do it.”

“What are you expecting them to find, sir?” Haider asked, uncertainly.

“Sasha said she remembered smoke. You know what human ashes does to plant life, Haider?” He jerked a thumb at the shrubs below the window, wilted and shrunken, the only brown patch in the row of perfect green. “That.” He turned back toward Tiltenhaus. “You put them right under her window.” He said, quietly. “So she could smell them burning? So she’d have to see them everyday?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Does she even remember why she’s so scared?” Harry demanded. “How badly did you fuck with her memory exactly?”

The wizard rolled his shoulders. “You have no proof of any wrongdoing.”

“But I will. And when I do,” Harry stepped close to the wizard. Close enough that he took a step back reflexively. “Sasha is never going to be afraid of you, ever again.”

* * * * *  
* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is late because a) i really hated every version i came up with and all my observations on crime scenes come from like, Bones and NCIS. and b) 2021 really came through for ya girl in busy and exciting and scary ways!! 
> 
> hope everyone is well! next chapter was way more fun to write because harry finally gets to meet clemmie ;)


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